THE 

IPOETICAL WORKS 

OF 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



THE LANSDOWNE POETS. 



THE POETICAL WORKS 



LONGFELLOW. 



REPRINTED FROM THE BEST EDITIONS, 

W\t\ 6*planatorg $ot*s, #c. 




PORTRAIT AND ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS. 



LONDON : 
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. 

BEDFORD STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 
NEW YORK : SCRIBNER, WELFORD AND CO. 






PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 



educing to the public a New Edition of the Poetical Works of 
low, as the first of a Series of Standard Poets, to be designated 
he distinctive title of the " Chandos Poets," the publishers beg to 
• as an apology for not giving the precedence to an English 
or, the great popularity of the American writer, whose poems are 
ousehold words in English homes, and whose genius has naturalized 
in our land. 



PREFACE TO THE FIFTH EDITION. 



s Edition contains, in addition to the Poems hitherto published, 
Cantos from Longfellow's translation of the Divina Commedia 
)ante, several new translations, and some Poems of very recent 
I which will be new to the British public. 

Bedford Street, 
May, 1872. 






S87270 
'29 






CONTENTS. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

PAGE 

RELUDE r 

[ymn to the Night <. 

Psalm of Life 5 

'ootsteps of Angels 6 

he Reaper and the Flowers 7 

he Light of Stars 8 

lowers 9 

The Beleaguered City 11 

Midnight Mass for tiif. Dying Yeah 12 

„'Envoi 14 



EARLIER POEMS. 

\n April Day s$ 

\UTUMN 16 

Voods in Winter 17 

Sunrise on the Hills 18 

[ymn of the Moravian Nuns OF BETHLEHEM 19 

iURIAL OF THE MlNNISINK 20 

The Spirit of Poetry 21 



BALLADS, * 



The Skeleton in Armour 
The Wreck of the Hesperus 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The Village Blacksmith 28 

Endymion 29 

The Two Locks of Hair c C 

[T is not always May 3 r 



vm CONTENTS. 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— continued. 

The Rainy Day. 

Gods-Acre . 

To the River Charles 

Blind Bartimeus 

The Goblet of Life. 

Maidenhood 

Excelsior . 

Carillon 

The Belfry of Bruges . 

The Arsenal at Springfield 

A Gleam of Sunshine 

Nuremberg . 

The Norman Baron . 

The Indian Hunter. 

Rain in Summer. 

To a Child. 

The Occultation of Orion 

To the Driving Cloud 

The Bridge. 

Flower de Luce 

Curfew 

The Kalif of Baldacca 

Palingenesis 

Hawthorne. 

The Sea Diver . 

Christmas Bells 

The Bridge of Cloud 

Noel .... 

The Wind over the Chimney 

Killed at the Ford 

The Bells of Lynn, heard at Nahant 



37 " 

3S i- 

41 I 

42 

44! 

45 

47 

48 ) 

49 

52 1 

56) 

58 K 

59 

6o| 

61 1 

62 

64 

66 

67 
67 
63 
69 



POEMS ON SLA VER I ". 

To William E. Channing 

• The Slave's Dream 

The Good Part that shall not be taken away 
The Slave in the Dismal Swamp. 

The Quadroon Girl 

The Slave Singing at Midnight .... 

The Witnesses 

The Warning 



74 
75 
76 
77 
73 
79 
3o 



CONTENTS. 
SONGS. 



Sea-weed 

[To an Old Danish Song-Book 
The Arrow and the Song 
,The Day is Done 
IAfternoon in February . 
Walter von der Vogelweid . 
JDrinking Song . 
The Old Clock on the Stairs 



PAGE 

82 
83 
85 
85 
87 
87 



SONNETS. 

iAUTUMN 93 

Dante 93 

iThe Evening Star 94 

To-morrow 94 

Giotto's Tower 95 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

The Spanish Student 96 

EVANGELINE. 

Evangeline 153 

THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE. 

Dedication 189 

by the seaside. 

The Building of the Ship 190 

The Evening Star o 200 

The Secret of the Sea 200 

Twilight 201 

Sir Humphrey Gilbert 202 

The Lighthouse 203 

The Fire of Drift-Wood « • • 205 



x CONTENTS. 

THE SEASIDE AND FIRESIDE— *w//>n/^. 

BY THE FIRESID13. 

PAGE 

Resignation 207 

The Builders 208 

Sand of the Desert in an Hour-Glass 209 

Birds of Passage 211 

The Open Window 21c k 

; King Witlaf's Drinking-Horn . . . . . . . . 213 

■* Gaspar Becerra 214 

Pegasus in Pound 215 

Tegner's Drapa 216 1 

Sonnet 218 

The Singers 219 

Suspiria 220 

Hymn for My Brother's Ordination 220 - 

: 
THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



The Golden Legend 



\ 



^/THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 
The Song of Hiawatha * ... 327 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

flight the first. 

Prometheus, or the Poet's Forethought 396 

The Ladder of St. Augustine 398 

The Phantom Ship 399 

The Warden of the Cinque Ports . .401 

Haunted Houses 402 

In the Churchyard at Cambridge 403 

The Emperor's Bird's-Nest 404 

The Two Angels 406 

Daylight and Moonlight 407 

The Jewish Cemetery at Newport 408 

Oliver Basselin 410 

Victor Galbraith 4" 

\/My Lost Youth 4 X 3 



CONTENTS. xi 
BIRDS OF PASSAGE.— Flight the First— continued. 

PAGE 

jThe Ropewalk 415 

The Golden Mile-stone 417 

Catawba Wine 418 

i Santa Filomena 420 

The Discoverer of the North Cape 422 

Daybreak. 425 

The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz 425 

I Children 426 

Sandalphon 427 

! Epimetheus, or the Poet's Afterthought 429 

flight the second. 

The Children's Hour 431 

Enceladus 432 

The Cumberland 433 

Something Left Undone 434 

Snow-Flakes 435 

A Day of Sunshine 435 

Weariness 436 

THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDI SH. 

The Courtship of Miles Standish 438 

TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 

Prelude 464 

The Landlord's Tale 471 



Interlude 



475 

The Student's Tale 476 

Interlude 483 

The Spanish Jew's Tale 484 

Interlude 486 

The Sicilian's Tale 487 

Interlude 492 

The Musician's Tale 493 

Interlude r 2 6 



The Theologian's Tale 

533 



5-^8 

Interlude 



The Poet's Tale 

Finale 540 



CONTENTS. 



TRANSLATIONS. 





PAGE 


COPLAS DE MANRIQUE 


54i 


The Good Shepherd 


548 


To-morrow 


548 


The Native Land . 


549 


The Image of God . 


549 


The Brook 


55o 


The Celestial Pilot . 


55o 


The Terrestrial Paradise 


55i 


Beatrice .... 


552 


Spring .... 


554 


The Child Asleep . 


555 


The Bird and the Ship. 


555 


King Christian 


556 


The Grave 


557 


The Wave 


558 


The Happiest Land 


, 558 


Whither?. 


559 


Beware ! . ... 


560 


Song of the Bell . 


560 


The Dead 


56i 


The Castle by the Sea 


56i 


The Black Knight 


562 


Song of the Silent Land 


563 



PAGE 

The Children of the Lord's 

Supper 563 

The Statue over the 

Cathedral Door. . . 574 
The Hemlock Tree . . 574 
Annie of Tharaw . . . 575 
The Legend of the Cross- 
bill 576 , 

Poetic Aphorisms . . . 576 

The Sea hath its Pearls . 578 
The Blind Girl of Castel- 

Cuille 578 

The Luck of Edenhall . 588 

The Elected Knight . . 590 

DlVlNA COMMEDIA . . . 592 

Consolation .... 609 

The Angel and the Child . 610 

My Secret .... 6ir 

Remorse 6ir 

Wanderer's Night-Songs . 612 
The Fugitive . . . .612 

The Boy and the Brook . 615 



THREE CANTOS OF DANTE'S PARADISO. 
Canto xxiii. . 594 Canto xxiv. . 598 Canto xxv. 



Childhood 6o 7 

A Christmas Carol 6oS 

LATEST ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Lady Wentworth 619 

The Baron of St. Castine 623 

The Ballad of Carmilhan 630 

Notes 6 37 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 



HoTvta, iroTvia vv%j 

vTrvoSortipa tujv irokvirovuv j3poruii', 

'Epej3o0£v Wi' fioXe /zoAe KarcnTTtpog 

'&ya\it\Lv6viov i-wi cufxov 

vtto yap dXyscjv, vno r« cvfi<popag 

cioixoiitO', oi'xo/z£0a. Eum tides. 



PRELUDE. 

Pleasant it was, when woods were green, 

And winds were soft and low, 
To lie amidst some sylvan scene, 
Where, the long drooping boughs between, 
Shadows dark and sunlight sheen 
Alternate come and go -, 

Or, where the denser grove receives 
No sunlight from above, v 

But the dark foliage interweaves 

In one unbroken roof of leaves, 

Underneath whose sloping eaves 
The shadows hardly move. 

Beneath some patriarchal tree 

I lay upon the ground ; 
His hoary arms uplifted he, 
And all the broad leaves over me 
Clapped their little hands in glee, 

With one continuous sound j — 

A slumberous sound, — a sound that brings 

The feelings of a dream, — 
As of innumerable wings, 
As, when a bell no longer swings, 
Faint the hollow murmur rings 

O'er meadow, lake, and stream. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 
And dreams of that which cannot die, 

Bright visions, came to me, 
As lapped in thought I used to lie, 
And gaze into the summer sky, 
Where the sailing clouds went by, 

Like ships upon the sea ; 

Dreams that the soul of youth engage 

Ere Fancy has been quelled- 
Old legends of the monkish page, 
Traditions of the saint and sage, 
Tales that have the rime of age, 

And chronicles of Eld. 

And, loving still these quaint old themes 

Even in the city's throng 
I feel the freshness of the streams, 
That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams, 
Water the green land of dreams, 

The holy land of song. 

Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings 
The spring clothed like a bride, 

When nestling buds unfold their wings, 

And bishop's-caps have golden rings, 

Musing upon many things, 
I sought the woodlands wide. 

The green trees whispered low and mild ; 

It was a sound of joy ! 
They were my playmates when a child, 
And rocked me in their arms so wild ! 
Still they looked at me and smiled, 

As if I were a boy; 

And ever whispered, mild and low, 
"Come, be a child once more !" 

And waved their long arms to and fro., 

And beckoned solemnly and slow; 

Oh, I could not choose but go 
Into the woodlands hoar ; 

Into the blithe and breathing air, 

Into the solemn wood, 
Solemn and silent everywhere ! 






PRELUDE. 
Nature with folded hands seemed there, 
Kneeling at her evening prayer ! 
Like one in prayer I stood. 

Before me rose an avenue 

Of tall and sombrous pines ; 
Abroad their fan-like branches grew, 
And, where the sunshine darted through, 
Spread a vapour soft and blue, 

In long and sloping lines. 

And, falling on my weary brain 

Like a fast-falling shower, 
The dreams of youth came back again, 
Low lispings of the summer rain, 
Dropping on the ripened grain, 

As once upon the flower. 

Visions of childhood ! Stay, oh stay ! 

Ye were so sweet and wild ! 
And distant voices seemed to say, 
" It cannot be ! They pass away ! 
Other themes demand thy lay j 

Thou art no more a child ! 

"The land of song within thee lies, 

Watered by living springs ; 
The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes 
Are gates unto that Paradise, 
Holy thoughts, like stars, arise, 

Its clouds are angels' wings. 

" Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, 
Not mountains capped with snow, 

Nor forests sounding like the sea, 

Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, 

Where the woodlands bend to see 
The bending heavens below. 

" There is a forest where the din 

Of iron branches sounds ! 
A mighty river roars between, 
And whosoever looks therein, 
Sees the heaven all black with sin, — 

Sees not its depths, nor bounds. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 
" Athwart the swinging branches cast, 

Soft rays of sunshine pour 5 
Then comes the fearful wintry blast j 
Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast 5 
Pallid lips say, *It is past ! 

We can return no more ! ' 

" Look, then, into thine heart, and write ! 

Yes, into Life's deep stream ! 
All forms of sorrow and delight, 
All solemn Voices of the Night, 
That can soothe thee, or affright, — 

Be these henceforth thy theme." 



HYMN TO THE NIGHT. 

'Kairaairj^ rplWiarog. 

I heard the trailing garments of the Night 

Sweep through her marble halls ! 
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light 

From the celestial walls. 

I felt her presence by its spell of might, 

Stoop o'er me from above -, 
The calm, majestic presence of the Night, 

As of the one I love. 

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, 

The manifold, soft chimes, 
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, 

Like some old poet's rhymes. 

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 

My spirit drank repose ; 
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, — 

From those deep cisterns flows. 

O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear 

What man has borne before : 
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, 

And they complain no more. 

Peace ! Peace ! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer ! 

Descend with broad-winged flight, 
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, 

The best beloved Night ! 



A PSALM OF LIFE, [ 

A PSALM OF LIFE. 

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 

" Life is but an empty dream !" 
For the soul is dead that slumbers, 

And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

And the grave is not its goal ; 
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way ; 
But to act, that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 

Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 

Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act — act in the living present ! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 

Lives of great men all remind us 

We can make our lives sublime, 
And, departing, leave behind us 

Footprints on the sands of time; 

Footprints, that perhaps another, 

Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 

Seeing, shall take heart again. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 
Let us, then, be up and doing 

With a heart for any fate ; 
Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labour and to wait. 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

When the hours of Day are numbered. 

And the voices of the Night 
Wake the better soul, that slumbered, 

To a holy, calm delight ; 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful fire-light 
Dance upon the parlour wall ; 

Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door ; 
The beloved, the true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more ; 

He, the young and strong, who cherished 
Noble longings for the strife, 

By the road-side fell and perished, 
Weary with the march of life ! 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 
Who the cross of suifering bore, 

Folded their pale hands so meekly, 
Spake with us on earth no more ! 

And with them the Being Beauteous, 
Who unto my youth was given 

More than all things else to love me, 
And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine, 

Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays her gentle hand in mine. 






THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 
And she sits and gazes at me 

With those deep and tender eyes 
Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 

Looking downward from the skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

O, though oft depress' d and lonely, 

All my fears are laid aside, 
If I but remember only 

Such as these have Jived and died ! 



THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 

There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, 

And, with his sickle keen, 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 

And the flowers that grow between. 

" Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he; 

" Have nought but the bearded grain ? 
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, 

I will give them all back again." 

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 

He kissed their drooping leaves 5 
It was for the Lord of Paradise 

He bound them in his sheaves. 

" My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," 

The Reaper said, and smiled ; 
" Dear tokens of the earth are they, 

Where he was once a child. 

" They shall all bloom in fields of light, 

Transplanted by my care, 
And saints, upon their garments white. 

These sacred blossoms wear." 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 
And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 

The flowers she most did love ; 
She knew she should find them all again 

In the fields of light above. 

Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 

The Reaper came that day ; 
'Twas an angel visited the green earth, 

And took the flowers away. 



THE LIGHT OF STARS. 

The night is come, but not too soon ; 

And sinking silently, 
All silently, the little moon 

Drops down behind the sky. 

There is no light in earth or heaven, 
But the cold light of stars ; 

And the first watch of night is given 
To the red planet Mars. 

Is it the tender star of love ? 

The star of love and dreams I 
Oh, no ! from that blue tent above, 

A hero's armour gleams. 

And earnest thoughts within me rise, 

When I behold afar, 
Suspended in the evening skies, 

The shield of that red star. 

star of strength ! I see thee stand 
And smile upon my pain ; 

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand 
And I am strong again. 

Within my breast there is no light, 
But the cold light of stars ; 

1 give the first watch of the night 

To the red planet Mars. 



FLOWERS. 
The star of the unconquered will, 

He rises in my breast, 
Serene, and resolute, and still, 

And calm, and self-possessed. 

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 
That readest this brief psalm, 

As one by one thy hopes depart, 
Be resolute and calm. 

Oh, fear not in a world like this, 
And thou shalt know ere long, 

Know how sublime a thing it is 
To suffer and be strong. 



FLOWERS. 

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, 
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, 

When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, 
Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. 

Stars they are, wherein we read our history, 

As astrologers and seers of eld ; 
Yet not Wrapped about with awful mystery, 

Like the burning stars, which they beheld. 

Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, 
God hath written in those stars above ; 

But not less in the bright flowerets under us 
Stands the revelation of his love. 

Bright and glorious is that revelation, 

Written all over this great world of ours ; 

Making evident our own creation, 

In these stars of earth, — these golden flowers. 

And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, 
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 

Of the self-same universal being 

Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 
Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, 

Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, 
Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, 

Buds that open only to decay ; 

Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, 

Flaunting gaily in the golden light ; 
Large desires, with most uncertain issues, 

Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! 

These in flowers and men are more than seeming 3 
Workings are they of the self-same powers, 

Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, 
Seeth in himself and in the flowers. 

Everywhere about us are they glowing, 
Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; 

Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing, 
Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn - } 

Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, 
And in Summer's green emblazoned field, 

But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, 
In the centre of his brazen shield 5 

Not alone in meadows and green alleys, 
On the mountain-top, and by the brink 

Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, 
Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink ; 

Not alone in her vast dome of glory, 
Not on graves of bird and beast alone, 

But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, 
On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone * 

In the cottage of the rudest peasant, 

In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, 

Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 
Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers ; 

In all places, then, and in all seasons, 

Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, 

Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, 
How akin they are to human things. 



THE BELEAGUERED CITY. 
And with childlike, credulous affection 

"We behold their tender buds expand j 
Emblems of our own great resurrection, 

Emblems of the bright and better land. 



THE BELEAGUERED CITY. 

I have read, in some old marvellous tale, 
Some legend strange and vague, 

That a midnight host of spectres pale 
Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, 
With the wan moon overhead, 

There stood, as in an awful dream, 
The army of the dead. 

White as a sea-fog, landward bound, 

The spectral camp was seen, 
And, with a sorrowful deep sound, 

The river flowed between. 

No other voice nor sound was there, 

No drum, nor sentry's pace j 
The mist-like banners clasped the air 

As clouds with clouds embrace. 

But, when the old cathedral bell 
Proclaimed the morning prayer, 

The white pavilions rose and fell 
On the alarmed air. 

Down the broad valley fast and far 

The troubled army fled ; 
Up rose the glorious morning star, 

The ghastly host was dead. 

I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, 
That strange and mystic scroll, 

That an army of phantoms vast and wan 
Beleaguer the human soul. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 
Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, 

In Fancy's misty light, 
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam 

Portentous through the night. 

Upon its midnight battle-ground 

The spectral camp is seen, 
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 

Flows the River of Life between. 

No other voice nor sound is there, 

In the army of the grave ; 
No other challenge breaks the air, 

But the rushing of Life's wave. 

And, when the solemn and deep church-bell 

Entreats the soul to pray, 
The midnight phantoms feel the spell, 

The shadows sweep away. 

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 

The spectral camp is fled ; 
Faith shineth as a morning star, 

Our ghastly fears are dead. 



MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR. 

Yes, the Year is growing old, 
And his eye is pale and bleared ! 

Death, with frosty hand and cold, 
Plucks the old man by the beard, 
Sorely, — sorely ! 

The leaves are falling, falling, 

Solemnly and slow • 
Caw ! caw ! the rooks are calling, 

It is a sound of woe, 
A sound of woe ! 

Through woods &nd mouncaLi-p3sses 

The winds, like anthems, roll 5 
They are chanting solemn masses, 

Singing -, " Pray for this poor soul, 
Pray, — pray!" 



MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR. 13 

And the hooded clouds, like friars, 

Tell their beads in drops of rain, 

And patter their doleful prayers ; — 

But their prayers are all in vain, 

All in vain ! 

There he stands in the foul weather, 

The foolish, fond Old Year, 
Crowned with wild flowers and with heather, 

Like weak, despised Lear, 
A king, — a king ! 

Then comes the summer-like day, 

Bids the old man rejoice ! 
His joy ! his last ! Oh, the old man gray 

Loveth that ever-soft voice, 
Gentle and low. 

To the crimson woods he saith, 

To the voice gentle and low 
Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath, 

" Pray do not mock me so ! 
Do not laugh at me !" 

And now the sweet day is dead ! 

Cold in his arms it lies ; 
No stain from its breath is spread 

Over the glassy skies, 
No mist or stain ! 

Then, too, the Old Year dieth, 

And the forests utter a moan, 
Like the voice of one who crieth 

In the wilderness alone, 
" Vex not his ghost !" 

Then comes, with an awful roar, 

Gathering and sounding on, 
• The storm-wind from Labrador, 

The wind Euroclydon, 
The storm wind ! 

Howl ! howl ! and from the forest 

Sweep the red leaves away! 
Would the sins that thou abhorrest, 

O Soul ! could thus decay, 
And be swept away ! 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 
For there shall come a mightier blast, 

There shall be a darker day j 
And the stars, from heaven down-cast 
Like red leaves be swept away ! 
Kyrie, eleyson ! 
Christe, eleyson ! 



L'ENVOI. 

Ye voices, that arose 

After the evening's close, 

And whispered to my restless heart repose ! 

Go, breathe it in the ear 

Of all who doubt and fear, 

And say to them, " Be of good cheer !" 



Ye sounds, so low and calm, 

That in the groves of balm 

Seemed to me like an angel's psalm ! 

Go, mingle yet once more 

With the perpetual roar 

Of the pine forest, dark and hoar ! 



Tongues of the dead, not lost, 
J3ut speaking from death's frost, 
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ! 

Glimmer, as funeral lamps, 
Amid the chills and damps 
Of the vast plain where Death encam] 






EARLIER POEMS. 

[written for the most part during my college life, and all 
of them before the age of nineteen.] 



AN APRIL DAY. 

When the warm sun, that brings 
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 
'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs 

The first flower of the plain. 

I love the season well, 
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms. 
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell 

The coming-on of storms. 

From the earth's loosened mould 
The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives j 
Though stricken to the heart with Winter's cold, 

The drooping tree revives. 

The softly-warbled song 
Comes from the pleasant woods, and coloured wings 
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along 

The forest openings. 

When the bright sunset fills 
The silver woods with light, the green slope throws 
Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, 

And wide the upland glows. 

And, when the eve is born, 
In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far, 
Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, 

And twinkles many a star. 



EARLIER POEMS. 

Inverted in the tide, 
Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw 5 
And the fair trees look over, side by side, 

And see themselves below. 

Sweet April ! — many a thought 
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed j 
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, 

Life's golden fruit is shed. 



AUTUMN. 

With what a glory comes and goes the year ! 
The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers 
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy 
Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out. 
And when the silvery habit of the clouds 
Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with 
A sober gladness the old year takes up 
His bright inheritance of golden fruits, 
A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene. 

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now 
Its mellow richness on the- clustered trees, 
And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, 
Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, 
And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. 
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, 
Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales 
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, 
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life 
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, 
And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, 
Where autumn, like a faint old man, sits down 
By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees 
The golden robin moves. The purple finch, 
That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, 
A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, 
And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud 
From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings, 
And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke, 
Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. 



WOODS IN WINTER. j j 

O what a glory doth this world put on 
For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth 
Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks 
On duties well performed, and days well spent ! 
For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, 
Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. 
He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death 
Has lifted up for all, that he shall go 
To his long resting-place without a tear. 



WOODS IN WINTER. 

When Winter winds are piercing chill, 
And through the hawthorn blows the gale, 

With solemn feet I tread the hill 
That overbrows the lonely vale. 

O'er the bare upland, and away 

Through the long reach of desert woods, 
The embracing sunbeams chastely play, 

And gladden these deep solitudes. 

Where, twisted round the barren oak, 
The summer vine in beauty clung, 

And summer winds the stillness broke, 
The crystal icicle is hung. 

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs 
Pour out the river's gradual tide, 

Shrilly the skater's iron rings, 

And voices fill the woodland side. 

Alas ! how changed from the fair scene, 
When birds sang out their mellow lay, 

And winds were soft, and woods were green, 
And the song ceased not with the day 

But still wild music is abroad, 

Pale, desert woods ! within your crowd 
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, 

Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. 



1 8 EARLIER POEMS. 

Chill airs and wintry winds ! my ear 

Has grown familiar with your song ; 
I hear it in the opening year, — 

I listen, and it cheers me long. 



SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. 

I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch 

Was glorious with the sun's returning march, 

And woods were brightened, and soft gales 

Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. 

The clouds were far beneath me ; — bathed in light, 

They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, 

And, in their fading glory, shone 

Like hosts in battle overthrown, 

As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, 

Through the grey mist thrust up its shattered lance, 

And rocking on the cliff was left 

The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. 

The veil of cloud was lifted, and below 

Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow 

Was darkened by the forest's shade, 

Or glistened in the white cascade ; 

Where upward, in the mellow blush of day^ 

The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. 

I heard the distant waters dash, 
I saw the current whirl and flash, — 
And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, 
The woods were bending with a silent reach. 
Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, 
The music of the village bell 
Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills ; 
And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, 
Was ringing to the merry shout, 
That faint and far the glen sent out, 
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, 
Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke. 

If thou art worn and hard beset 
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, 



HYMN OF THE MORA VI AN NUNS. 
If thou wouldst react a lesson, that will keep 
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, 
Go to the woods and hills ! — No tears 
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. 



IYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM, 

AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASK1S BANNER. 

When the dying flame of day 
Through the chancel shot its ray, 
Far the glimmering tapers shed 
Faint light on the cowled head : 
And the censer burning swung, 
Where, before the altar, hung 
The blood-red banner, that with prayer 

Had been consecrated there. 

And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while, 
Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle. 

"Take thy banner! May it wave 
Proudly o'er the good and brave 
When the battle's distant wail 

Breaks the sabbath of our fraie, 

When the clarion's music thrills 
To the hearts of these lone hills, 
Whin the spear in conflicts -hakes, 
And the strong lance shivering breaks. 

"Take thy banner ! and, beneath 
The battle-cloud's encircling wreath, 
Guard it ! — till our homes are free ! 
Guard it ! — God will prosper thee ! 
In the dark and trying hour, 
In the breaking forth of power, 
In the rush of steeds and men, 
His right hand will shield thee then. 

"Take thy banner ! But, when night 
Closes round the ghastly tight, 
If the vanquished warrior bow, 
Spare him ! — By our holy vow. 



EARLIER POEMS. 
By our prayers and many tears, 
By the mercy that endears, 
Spare him ! — he our love hath shared ! 
Spare him ! — as thou wouldst be spared ! 

" Take thy banner ! — and if e'er 
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier -, 
And the muffled drum should beat 
To the tread of mournful feet, 
Then this crimson flag shall be 
Martial cloak and shroud for thee." 

The warrior took that banner proud, 
And it was his martial cloak and shroud ! 



BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. 

On sunny slope and beechen swell, 
The shadowed light of evening fell ; 
And, where the maple's leaf was brown, 
With soft and silent lapse came down 
The glory, that the wood receives, 
At sunset, in its brazen leaves. 

Far upward in the mellow light 
Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, 
Around a far uplifted cone, 
In the warm blush of evening shone ; 
An image of the silver lakes, 
By which the Indian's soul awakes. 

But soon a funeral hymn was heard 
Where the soft breath of evening stirred 
The tall, grey forest ; and a band 
Of stern in heart, and strong in hand, 
Came winding down beside the wave, 
To lay the red chief in his grave. 

They sang, that by his native bowers 
He stood in the last moon of flowers, 
And thirty snows had not yet shed 
Their glory on the warrior's head ; 
But, as the summer fruit decays, 
So died he in those naked days. 



THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. 
A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin 
Covered the warrior, and within 
Its heavy folds the weapons, made 
For the hard toils of war were laid ; 
The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds, 
And the broad belt of shells and beads. 

Before, a dark-haired virgin train 
Chanted the death dirge of the slain ; 
Behind, the long procession came 
Of hoary men and chiefs of fame, 
With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief, 
Leading the war-horse of their chief. 

Stripped of his proud and martial dress, 
Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless, 
With darting eye, and nostril spread, 
And heavy and impatient tread, 
He came ; and oft that eye so proud 
Asked for his rider in the crowd. 

They buried the dark chief — they freed 
Beside the grave his battle steed j 
And swift an arrow cleaved its way 
To his stern heart ! One piercing neigh 
Arose, — and, on the dead man's plain, 
The rider grasps his steed again. 



THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. 

There is a quiet spirit in these woods, 
That dwells where'er the gentle south wind blows; 
Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade, 
The wild-flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air, 
The leaves above their sunny palms outspread. 
With what a tender and impassioned voice 
It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, 
When the fast-ushering star of Morning comes 
O'er-riding the grey hills with golden scarf; 
Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve, 
In mourning weeds, from out the western gate, 
Departs with silent pace ! That spirit moves 
In the green valley, where the silver brook, 
From its full laver, pours the white cascade -, 

13 



EARLIER EOEA/S. 
And, babbling low amid the tangled woods, 
Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless langhtc 
And frequent, on the everlasting hills, 
Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself 
In all the dark embroidery of the storm, 
And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid 
The silent majesty of these deep woods, 
Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, 
As to the sunshine and the pure bright air, 
Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards 
Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. 
For them there was an eloquent voice in all 
The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun, 
The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, 
Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle wings, — 
The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun 
Aslant the wooded slope at evening, goes, — 
Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in, 
Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale, 
The distant lake, fountains, — and mighty trees, 
In many a lazy syllable, repeating 
Their old poetic legends to the wind. 

And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill 
The world ; and, in these wayward days of youth, 
My busy fancy oft embodies it, 
As a bright image of the light and beauty 
That dwell in nature, — of the heavenly forms 
We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues 
That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds 
When the sun sets. Within her eye 
The heaven of April, with its changing light, 
And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, 
And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair 
Is like the summer tresses of the trees, 
When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek 
Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, 
With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, 
It is so like the gentle air of Spring, 
As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it comes 
Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy 
To have it round us, — and her silver voice 
Is the rich music of a summer bird, 
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. 



BALLADS. 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR. 

[The following Ballad was suggested to me while riding on the sea-shore 
at Newport. A year or two previous a skeleton had been dug up at Fall River, 
clad in broken and corroded armour; and the idea occurred to me of con- 
necting it with the Round Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto as the 

I Old Windmill, though now claimed by the Danes as a work of their early 

1 ancestors.] 



Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest 
'Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armour drest, 

Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
(Stretched, as if asking alms, 

Why dost thou haunt me ?" 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

, a was a Viking old ! 

> My deeds, though manifold, 

] |No Skald in song has told, 

No Saga taught thee ! 
! Take heed, that in thy verse 
! [Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse ! 

For this I sought thee. 



" Far in the Northern Land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand, 

Tamed the ger-falcon ; 
And, with my skates fast-bound ; 
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 

" Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly bear, 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow ; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf s bark, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

"But when I older grew, 
Joining a corsair's crew, 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led ; 
Many the souls that 6ped, 
Many the hearts that bled 

By our stern orders 



^4 



' Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long Winter out ; 
Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing, 
As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale, 
Draining the oaken pail, 

Filled to o'erflowing. 



BALLADS. 

She was a Prince's child, 

I but a Viking wild, 

And though she blushed and smile 

I was discarded ! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew's flight, 
Why did they leave that night 
Her nest unguarded \ 



" Once, as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea, 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 
Burning yet tender ; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 
Fell their soft splendour. 

' I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid, 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 
Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 

" Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 

Chaunting his glory ; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrel stand 

To hear my story. 

"While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed, 
And as the wind-gusts waft 
The sea-foam brightly, 
So the loud laugh of scorn, 
Out of those lips unshorn, 
From the deep drinking-horn 
Blew the foam lightly. 



1 



" Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me, — 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen ! — 
When on the white-sea strand, 
Waving his armed hand, 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 
. With twenty horsemen. 

'« Then launched they to the blast, 
Bent like a reed each mast, 
Yet we were gaining fast, 

When the wind failed us ; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
So that our foe we saw 

Laugh as he hailed us. 

" And as to catch the gale 
Round veered the flapping sail, 
Death ! was the helmsman's hail, 

Death without quarter ! 
Mid-ships with iron-keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water I 
i 
"As with his wings aslant, 
Sails the fierce cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt, 

With his prey laden : 
So toward the open main, 
Beating the sea again, 
Through the wild hurricane, 

Bore I the maiden 



lere lived we many years ; 
[me dried the maiden's tears ; 
ie had forgot her fears, 

She was a mother ; 
bath closed her mild blue eyes, 
jider that tower she lies ; 
t'er shall the sun arise 

On such another ! 



THE HESPERUS, 25 

" Still grew my boccm then, 
Still as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to mc were men, 

The sunlight hateful ! 
In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear, 
Fell I upon my spear, 

Oh, death was grateful ! 

" Thus, seamed with many scars, 
Bursting these prison bars, 
Up to its native stars 

My soul ascended ! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
Skoal! to the Northland ! Skoal.'"* 
— Thus the tale ended. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea ■ 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, 

Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 

That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

His pipe was in his mouth, 
And he watched how the veering fkw did blow 

The smoke now West, now South. 

Then up and spake an old Sailor, 

Had sailed the Spanish Main, 
" I pray thee, put into yonder port, 

For I fear a hurricane. 

1 Scandinavia this is the customary calu&tion when drinking a health. I have 
f changed the orthography of the va>rd, in order to preserve the correct 



, BALLADS. 

« Last night the moon had a golden ring, 
And to-night no moon we see . 
The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and colder blew the wind, 

A ^ale from the North-east; 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

« Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, 
And do not tremble so ; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 
That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 

" O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 

O say, what may it be ?" 
"'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast! 

And he steered for the open sea. 

" O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 

O say, what may it be r" 
« Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea!" 

« O father, I see a gleaming light, 
O say, what may it be?" 
But the father answered never a word, 
' A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
With his face turned to the skies, 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming sno- 
Qxi his fixed and glassy eyes, 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 
Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 

That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, 

On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept 
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land ; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf, 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 
Ho! ho! the breakers roared! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 

In the midnight and the snow ; 
Christ save us all from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 1841-46. 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands ; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands 5 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 

His face is like the tan 5 
His brow is wet with honest sweat, 

He earns whate'er he can, 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
You can hear his bellows blow; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
With measured beat and slow, 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door; 
They love to see the naming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 
And catch the burning sparks that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 
And sits among his boys ; 



ENDYMION. 29 

He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more. 

How in the grave she lies j 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling — rejoicing — sorrowing, 

Onward through life he goes 3 
Each morning sees some task begin, 

Each evening sees it close 3 
Something attempted, something done, 

Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 

For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
Thus at the flaming forge of life 

Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 

Each burning deed and thought ! 



ENDYMIOX. 

The rising moon has hid the stars j 
Her level rays, like golden bars, 
Lie on the landscape green, 
With shadows brown between. 

And silver white the river gleams, 
As if Diana, in her dreams, 
Had dropt her silver bow 
Upon the meadows low. 

On such a tranquil night as this, 
She woke Endymion with a kiss, 
When, sleeping in the grove, 
He dreamed not of her love. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, 
Love gives itself, but is not bought ; 
Nor voice, nor sound betrays 
Its deep, impassioned gaze. 

It comes — the beautiful, the free, 
The crown of all humanity — 

In silence and alone 

To seek the elected one. 

it lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep. 

Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep. 
And kisses the closed eyes 
Of him, who slumbering lies. 

O, weary hearts I O, slumbering eyes ! 
0, drooping souls, whose destinies 

Are fraught with fear and pain, 

Ye shall be loved again ! 

No one is so accursed by fate, 
No one so utterly desolate, 

But some heart, though unknown, 

Responds unto his own. 

Responds — as if with unseen wings. 
An angel touched its quivering strings 3 
And whispers, in its song, 
<•" Where hast thou stayed so long?' 



THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZEH. 

A youth, light-hearted and contend 
I wander through the world ; 

Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent 
And straight again is furled. 

Yet oft I dream, that once a wife 
Close in my heart was locked, 

And in the sweet repose of life 
A blessed child I rocked B 



IT IS NOT ALWA YS MA Y. 3 r 

I wake ! Away that dream — away ' 

Too long did it remain ! 
So long, that both by night and day 

It ever comes again. 

The end lies ever in my thought ; 

To a grave so cold and deep 
The mother beautiful was brought j 

Then dropt the child asleep. 

But now the dream is wholly o'er, 

I bathe mine eyes and see ; 
And wander through the world once more, 

A youth so light and free. 

Two locks — and they are wondrous fair — ■ 

Left me that vision mild 5 
The brown is from the mother's hair, 

The blond is from the child. 

And when I see that lock of gold, 

Pale grows the evening-red ; 
And when the dark lock I behold, 

I wish that I were dead. 



IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. 

NO HAY PAJAROS EN LOS NIDOS DE ANT AN O. 

Spanish Proveiib. 

The sun is bright — the air is clear, 
The darting swallows soar and sing, 

And from the stately elms I hear 
The blue-bird prophesying Spring. 

So blue yon winding river flows, 

It seems^n outlet from the sky, 
Where waiting till the west wind blows, 

The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 

All things are new 5 — the buds, the leaves, 
That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, 

And even the nest beneath the eaves ; — 
There are no birds in last year's nest ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
All things rejoice in youth and love, 

The fulness of their first delight ! 
And learn from the soft heavens above 

The melting tenderness of night. 

Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, 
Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay 3 

Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, 
For oh ! it is not always May ! 

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, 
To some good angel leave the rest ; 

For time will teach thee soon the truth, 
There are no birds in last year's nest ! 



THE RAINY DAY. 

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, 
But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 
And the day is dark and dreary. 

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, 
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, 
And the days are dark and dreary. 

Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; 
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; 
Thy fate is the common fate of all, 
Into each life some rain must fall, 

Some days must be dark and dreary. 



GOD'S-ACRE. 

I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls 
The burial-ground God's- Acre ! It is just ; 

It consecrates each grave within its walls, 

And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. 



TO TftE RIVER CHARLES. 33 

God's- Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts 

Comfort to those who in the grave have sown 
The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts, 

Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. 

Into its furrows shall we all be cast, 

In the sure faith that we shall rise again 
At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast 

Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. 

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, 

In the fair gardens of that second birth ; 
And each bright blossom mingle its perfume 

With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth. 

With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, 
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow 5 

This is the held and Acre of our God, 

This is the place where human harvests grow. 



TO THE RIVER CHARLES. 

River ! that in silence windest 

Through the meadows bright and free, 

Till at length thy rest thou findest 
In the bosom of the sea ! 

For long years of mingled feeling, 
Half in rest, and half in strife, 

I have seen thy waters stealing 
Onward, like the stream of life. 

Thou hast taught me, Silent River ! 

Many a lesson, deep and long ; 
Thou hast been a generous giver r 

I can give thee but a song. 

Oft in sadness and in illness, 

I have watched Fay current glide, 

Till the beauty of its stillness 
Overflowed me, like a tide. 



34 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And in better hours and brighter, 

When I saw thy waters gleam, 
I have felt my heart beat lighter, 

And leap onward with thy stream. 

Not for this alone I love thee, 
Nor because thy waves of blue 

From celestial seas above thee 
Take their own celestial hue. 

Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, 
And thy waters disappear, 

Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, 
And have made thy margin dear. 

More than this ; — thy name reminds me 
Of three friends, all true and tried ; 

And that name, like magic, binds me 
Closer, closer to thy side. 

Friends my soul with joy remembers ! 

How like quivering flames they start, 
When I fan the living embers 

On the hearthstone of my heart ! 

'Tis for this, thou Silent River ! 

That my spirit leans to thee ; 
Thou hast been a generous giver, 

Take this idle song from me. 



BLIND BARTIMEUS. 

Blind Bartimeus at the gates 

Of Jericho in darkness waits -, 

He hears the crowd ; — he hears a breath 

Say, "It is Christ of Nazareth!" 

And calls in tones of agony, 

'Irjtrov, eXerjffou fie! 

The thronging multitudes increase | 
Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace ! 
But still, above the noisy crowd, 
The beggar's cry is shrill and loud $ 
Until they say, "He calleth thee!" 
Gapdfi, eyeipai, (jxjjvel ae ! 



THE GOBLET OF LIFE, 35 

Then saith the Christ, as silent stands 
The crowd, "What wilt thou at my hands?" 
And he replies, *' O give me light ! 
Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight \" 
And Jesus answers, "Y-rraye' 
'H -nioTiQ aov aeauKs era ! 

Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, 

In darkness and in misery, 

Recall those mighty Voices Three, 

T/jO'oi/, i\ir,a6v fiz ! 

Qapasif 'iysipuL, "Yirays ! 

11 iriaTic Cjj ui^^o^i ae! 



THE GOBLET OF LIFE. 

Filled is Life's goblet to the brim; 
Add though my eyes with tears are dim, 
I sec its sparkling bubbles swim, 
And chant a melancholy hymn 
With solemn voice and slow. 

No purple flowers, — no garlands green, 
Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen, 
Nor maddening draughts of Hippocrene, 
Like gleams of sunshine, flash between 
Thick leaves of misletoe. 

This goblet, wrought with curious art, 
Is filled with waters, that upstart, 
When the deep fountains of the heart, 
By strong convulsions rent apart, 
Are running all to waste. 

And as it mantling passes round, 
With fennel is it wreathed and crowned, 
Whose seed and foliage sun-imbrowned 
Are in its waters steeped and drowned, 
And give a bitter taste. 

Above the lowly plants it towers, 
The fennel, with its yellow flowers, 
A.nd in an earlier age than ours 
Was gifted with the wondrous powers, 
Lost vision to restore. 



36 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

It gave new strength, and fearless mood -, 
And gladiators, fierce and rude, 
Mingled it in their daily food ; 
And he who battled and subdued, 
A wreath of fennel wore. 

Then in Life's goblet freely press, 
The leaves that give it bitterness, 
Nor prize the coloured waters less, 
For in thy darkness and distress 

New light and strength they give ! 

And he who has not learnt to know 
How false its sparkling bubbles show, 
How bitter are the drops of woe, 
With which its brim may overflow, 
He has not learned to live. 

The prayer of Ajax was for light ; 
Through all that dark and desperate fight, 
The blackness of that noonday night, 
He asked but the return of sight, 
To see his foeman's face. 

Let our unceasing, earnest prayer 
Be, too, for light, — for strength to bear 
Our portion of the weight of care, 
That crushes into dumb despair 
One half the human race. 

O suffering, sad humanity ! 

ye afflicted ones who Ke 
Steeped to the lips in misery, 
Longing, and yet afraid to die, 

Patient, though sorely tried ! 

1 pledge you in this cup of grief, 
Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf, 
The battle of our life is brief, 
The alarm, — the struggle, — the relief, — 

Then sleep we side by side. 




" Standing with reluctant feel, 
Where the brook and river meet.' 



MAIDENHOOD. 



MAIDENHOOD. 

Maiden ! with the meek, brown eyes, 
In whose orbs a shadow lies 
Like the dusk in evening skies ! 

Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
Golden tresses, wreathed in one, 
As the braided streamlets run ! 

Standing, with reluctant feet, 
Where the brook and river meet, 
Womanhood and childhood fleet ! 

Gazing, with a timid glance, 
On the brooklet's swift advance, 
On the river's broad expanse ! 

Deep and still, that gliding stream 
Beautiful to thee must seem, 
As the river of a dream. 

Then why pause with indecision, 
When bright angels in thy vision 
Beckon thee to fields Elysian ? 

Seest thou shadows sailing by, 
As the dove with startled eye, 
Sees the falcon's shadow fly ? 

Hearest thou voices on the shore, 
That our ears perceive no more, 
Deafened by the cataract's roar ? 

O thou child of many prayers ! 

Lite hath quicksands, — Life hath snares! 

Care and age come unawares ! 

Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
Morning rises into noon, 
May glides onward into June. 

Childhood is the bough, where slumbered 
Birds and blossoms many numbered ; — 
Age, that bough with snows encumbered. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
Gather, then, each flower that grows, 
When the young heart overflows, 
To embalm that tent of snows. 

Bear a Kly in thy hand ; 
Gates of brass cannot withstand 
One touch of that magic wand. 

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 
In thy heart the dew of youth, 
On thy lips the smile of truth. 

O, that dew, like balm, shall steal 
Into wounds, that cannot heal, 
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal j 

And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
Into many a sunless heart, 
For a smile of God thou art. 



EXCELSIOR. 

The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner, with the strange device. 
Excelsior! 

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, 
Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath, 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior! 

In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright j 
Above the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior ! 

" Try not the Pass !" the old man said j 
" Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide !" 
And loud that clarion voice replied . 
Excelsior 



CARILLON. 3G 

" O stay," the maiden said, " and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast !" 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! 
Beware the awful avalanche !" 
This was the peasant's last Good-night, 
A voice replied, far up the height, 
Excelsior ! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior ! 

A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

There in the twilight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 
Excelsior ! 



CARILLON. 

In the ancient town of Bruges, 
In the quaint old Flemish city, 
As the evening shades descended, 
Low and loud and sweetly blended, 
Low at times and loud at times, 
And changing like a poet's rhymes, 
Rang the beautiful wild chimes, 
From the Belfry in the market 
Of the ancient town of Bruges. 



.jo MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Then, with deep sonorous clangor 
Calmly answering their sweet anger, 
When the wrangling bells had ended, 
Slowly struck the clock eleven, 
And, from out the silent heaven, 
Silence on the town descended. 
Silence, silence everywhere, 
On the earth and in the air, 
Save that footsteps here and there 
Of some burgher home returning, 
By the street lamps faintly burning, 
For a moment woke the echoes 
Of the ancient town of Bruges. 

But amid my broken slumbers 
Still I heard those magic numbers, 
As they loud proclaimed the flight 
And stolen marches of the night ; 
Till their chimes in sweet collision 
Mingled with each wandering vision, 
Mingled with the fortune-telling 
Gipsy-bands of dreams and fancies, 
"Winch amid the waste expanses 
Of the silent land of trances 
Have their solitary dwelling. 
All else seemed asleep in Bruges, 
In the quaint old Flemish city. 

And I thought how like these chimes 
Are the poet's airy rhymes, 
All his rhymes and roundelays, 
His conceits, and songs, and ditties, 
From the belfry of his brain, 
Scattered downward, though in vain, 
On the roofs and stones of cities I 
For by night the drowsy ear 
Under its curtains cannot hear, 
And by day men go their ways, 
Hearing the music as they pass, 
But deeming it no more, alas ! 
Than the hollow sound of brass. 

Yet perchance a sleepless wight, 
Lodging at some humble inn 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. 
In the narrow Lines of life, 
When the dusk and hush of night 
Shut out the incessant din 
Of daylight and its toil and strife, 
May listen with a calm delight 
To the poet's melodies, 
Till he hears, or dreams he hears, 
Intermingled with the song, 
Thoughts that he has cherished long ; 
Hears amid the chime and singing 
The bells of his own village" ringing, 
And wakes, and finds his slumberous eyes 
Wot with most delicious tears. 

Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay 
In Bruges, at the Fleur-de-Ble, 
Listening with a wild delight 
To the chimes that, through the night, 
Rang their changes from the Belfry 
Of that quaint old Flemish city. 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. 

In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown ; 
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town. 

As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood, 
And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood. 

Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapours 

Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay. 

At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there, 
Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air. 

Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour, 
But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower. 

From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high, 
And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky. 

Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times, 
With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes. 



42 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the 

choir ; 
And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar. 

Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain ; 
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again ; 

All the Foresters of Flanders, — mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, 
Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy, Philip, Guy de Dampierre. 

I beheld the pageants splendid, that adorned those days of old ; 
Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece of 
Gold 3 

Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies j 
Ministers from twenty nations ; more than royal pomp and ease. 

I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground; 
I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound ; 

And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen, 
And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between. 

I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold, 
Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold j 

Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving West, 
Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon's nest. 

And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote ; 
And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin's throat ; 

Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand, 
"I am Roland ! I am Roland ! there is victory in the land !" 

Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's roar 
Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once | 
' more. 

Hours had passeu away like minutes ; and, before I was aware, 
Lo ! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square. 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. 

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, 
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ; 

But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing 
Startles the villages with strange alarms. 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD 43 

Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary. 

When the death-angel touches those swift keys \ 
What loud lament and dismal Miserere 

Will mingle with their awful symphonies ! 

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, 

The cries of agony, the endless groan, 
Which, through the ages that have gone before us. 

In long reverberations reach our own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer, 

Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song. 
And loud, amid the universal clamour, 
O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. 

I hear the Florentine, who from his palace 
Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din, 

And Aztec priests upon their teocallis 

Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin ; 

The tumult of each sacked and burning village; 

The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns ; 
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage ; 

The wail of famine in beleaguered towns ; 

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, 
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade ; 

And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, 
The diapason of the cannonade. 

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, 

With such accursed instruments as these, 
Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voice-, 

And j arrest the celestial harmonies ? 

Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, 
Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts, 

Given to redeem the human mind from error, 
There were no need of arsenals nor forts : 

The warrior's name would be a name abhorred ! 

And every nation that should lift again 
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead 

Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain ! 



44 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Down the dark future, through long generations, 

The echoing sounds grow fainter, and then cease ; 
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, 

I hear once more the voice of Christ say, " Peace !" 

Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals 
The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies ! 

But beautiful as songs of the immortals, 
The holy melodies of love arise. 



A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE. 

This is the place. Stand still, my steed, 

Let me review the scene, 
And summon from the shadowy Past 

The forms that once have been. 

The Past and Present here unite 

Beneath Time's flowing tide, 
Like footprints hidden by a brook, 

But seen on either side. 

Here runs the highway to the town j 

There the green lane descends, 
Through which I walked to church with thee, 

O gentlest of my friends ! 

The shadow of the linden-trees 

Lay moving on the grass ; 
Between them and the moving boughs, 

A shadow, thou didst pass. 

Thy dress was like the lilies, 

And thy heart as pure as they : 
One of God's holy messengers 

Did walk with me that day. 

I saw the branches of the trees 

Bend down thy touch to meet, 
The clover-blossoms in the grass 

Rise up to kiss thy feet. 

" Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, 

Of earth and folly born !" 
Solemnly sang the village choir 

On that sweet Sabbath morn. 



NUREMBERG, 
Through the closed blinds the golden sun 

Poured in a dusty beam, 
Like the celestial ladder seen 

By Jacob in his dream. 

And ever and anon the wind, 

Sweet-scented with the hay, 
Turned o'er the hymn-book's fluttering leaves 

That on the window lay. 

Long was the good man's sermon, 

Yet it seemed not so to me -, 
For he spake of Ruth the beautiful, 

And still I thought of thee. 

Long was the prayer he uttered, 

Yet it seemed not so to me ; 
For in my heart I prayed with him, 

And still I thought of thee. 

But now, alas ! the place seems changed j 

Thou art no longer here : 
Part of the sunshine of the scene 

With thee did disappear. 

Though thoughts, deep-rooted in my heart, 

Like pine-trees, dark and high, 
Subdue the light of noon, and breathe 

A low and ceaseless sigh ; 

This memory brightens o'er the past, 

As when the sun, concealed 
Behind some cloud that near us hangs, 

Shines on a distant field. 



NUREMBERG. 

In the vaHey of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands 
Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg the ancient stands. 

Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and song, 
Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round them 
throng : 



46 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors, rough and bold, 

Had their duelling in thy castle, time-defying, centuries old; 

And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth rhyme, 
That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every clime. 

In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many an iron band, 
Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen Cunigunde's hand; 

On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days 
Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian's praise. 

Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of Art : 
Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common 

mart ; 

And above cathedral doorways saints and bishops carved in stone, 
By a former age commissioned as apostles to our own. 

In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust, 

And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from age to age their trust ; 

In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare, 
Like the foamy sheaf of fountains, rising through the painted air. 

Here, when Art was still religion, with a simple, reverent heart, 
Lived and laboured Albrecht Diirer, the Evangelist of Art; 

tlence ki silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand, 
Like an emigrant he wandered, seeking for the Better Land. 

Emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies ; 
Dead he is not, — but departed, — for the artist never dies. . 

Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more fair, 
That he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed its air ! 

Through these streets so broad and stately, these obscure and dismal 

lanes, 
Walked of yore the Mastersingers, chanting rude poetic strains. 

From remote and sunless suburbs, came they to the friendly guild, 
Building nests in Fame's great temple, as in spouts the swallows build. 

As the weaver plied the shuttle, wove he too the mystic rhyme, 
And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil's chime ; 

Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flowers of poe-y 

bloom 
In the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom. 



THE NORMAN BARON 47 

Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of the gentle craft, 
Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge folios sang and laughed. 

But his house is now an ale-house, with a nicely sanded floor, 
And a garland in the window, and his face above the door; 

Painted by some humble artist, as in Adam Puschman's song, 

As the old man gray and dove-like, with his great beard white and long. 

And at night the swart mechanic comes to drown his cark and care, 
Quaffing ale from pewter tankards, in the master's antique chair. 

Vanished is the ancient splendour, and before my dreamy eye 
Wave these mingling shapes and figures, like a faded tapestry. 

Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee the world's regard ; 
But thy painter, Albrecht Diirer, and Hans Sachs, thy cobbler-bard 

Thus, O Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region far away, 

As he paced thy streets and court-yards, sang in thought his careless lay: 

Gathering from the pavement's crevice, as a floweret of the soil, 
The nobility of labour, — the long pedigree of toil. 



THE NORMAN BARON. 

[Dans les moments dc la vie oil la reflexion devient plus calme ct plus profonde, oil 
1'intcrOt et l'avarice parlcnt moins haut que la raison, dans les instants de chagrin 
domestique, de maladie, et de peril dc mort, les nobles se repentirent de pos^ 
serfs, comme d'une chose peu agre'able a Dieu, qui avait cre'e tous les hommes a son 
image.] 

Thierry: Conquete de l'Angleterre. 



In his chamber, weak and dying, 
Was the Norman baron lying ; 
Loud, without, the tempest thundered, 
And the castle-turret shook. 

In this fight was Death the gainer, 
Spite of vassal and retainer, 
And the lands his sires had plundered, 
Written in the Doomsday Book. 

By his bed a monk was seated, 
Who in a humble voice repeated 
Many a prayer and pater-noster, 
From the missal on his knee ; 



And, amid the tempest pealing, 
Sounds of bells came faintly stealing, 
Bells,that,fVom the neighbouring kloster, 
Rang for the Nativity. 

In the hall, the serf and vassal 
Hcld,that night, their Christmas wassail; 
Many a carol, old and saintly, 

Sang the minstrels and the waits. 

And so loud these Saxon gleemen 
Sang to slaves the songs of freemen, 
That the storm was heard but faintly, 
Knocking at the eastle-gatcs. 



4 o 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Till at length the lays they chaunted 
Reached the chamber terror-haunted, 
Where the monk, -with accents holy, 
Whispered at the baron's ear. 

Tears upon his eyelids glistened, 
As he paused awhile and listened, 
And the 'dying baron slowly 

Turned his weary head to hear. 

" Wassail for the kingly stranger 
Born and cradled in a manger ! 
King, like David, priest, like Aaron, 
Christ is born to set us free ! " 

And the lightning showed the sainted 
Figures on the casement painted, 
And exclaimed the shuddering baron, 
"Miserere, Domine ! " 

In that hour of deep contrition, 
He beheld, with clearer vision, 
Through all outward show and fashion, 
Justice, the Avenger, rise. 



All the pomp of earth had vanished, 
Falsehood and deceit were banished, 
Reason spake more loud than passion, 

And the truth wore no disguise. 
Every vassal of his banner, 
Every serf born to his manor, 
All those wronged and wretched crea- 
tures 

By his hand were freed again. 

And, as on the sacred missal 
He recorded their dismissal, 
Death relaxed his iron features, 

And the monk replied, "Amen P 
Many centuries have been numbered 
Since in death the baron slumbered 
By the convent's sculptured portal, 

Mingling with the common dust : 

But the good deed, through the ages 
Living in historic pages, 
Brighter grows and gleams immortal, 
Unconsumed by moth or rust. 



THE INDIAN HUNTER. 

When the summer harvest was gathered in, 
And the sheaf of the gleaner grew white and thin, 
And the ploughshare was in its furrow left, 
Where the stubble land had been lately cleft, 
An Indian hunter, with unstrung bow, 
Looked down where the valley lay stretched below. 

He was a stranger there, and all that day 
Had been out on the hills, a perilous way, 
But the foot of the deer was far and fleet, 
And the wolf kept aloof from the hunter's feet, 
And bitter feelings passed o'er him then, 
As he stood by the populous haunts of men. 
The winds of autumn came over the woods, 
As the sun stole out from their solitudes ; 
The moss was white on the maple's trunk, 
And dead from its arms the pale vine shrunk, 
And ripened the mellow fruit hung, and red 
Where the trees withered leaves around it shed. 



RAIN IN SUMMER. 49 

The foot of the reaper moved slow on the lawn, 
And the sickle cut down the yellow corn ; 
The mower sung loud by the meadow side, 
Where the mists of evening were spreading wide ; 
And the voice of the herdsman came up the lea, 
And the dance went round by the greenwood tree. 

Then the hunter turned away from that scene, 
Where the home of his fathers once had been, 
And heard, by the distant and measured stroke, 
That the woodman hewed down the giant oak — 
And burning thoughts flashed over his mind, 
Of the white man's faith, and love unkind. 

The moon of the harvest grew high and bright, 
As her golden horn pierced the cloud of white, — 
A footstep was heard in the rustling brake, 
Where the beech overshadowed the misty lake, 
And a mourning voice, and a plunge from shore, 
And the hunter was seen on the hills no more. 

When years had passed on, by that still lake side, 
The fisher looked down through the silver tide, 
And there on the smooth yellow sand displayed, 
A skeleton wasted and white was laid, 
And 'twas seen, as the waters moved deep and slow, 
That the hand was still grasping a hunter's bow. 



RAIN IN SUMMER. 

How beautiful is the rain! 
After the dust and heat, 
In the broad and riery street, 
In the narrow lane, 
How beautiful is the rain! 

How it clatters along the roofs, 

Like the tramp of hoofs ! 

How it gushes and struggles out 

From the throat of the overflowing spout ! 

Across the window pane 

It pours and pours; 

And swift and wide, 

With a muddy tide, 

Like a river down the gutter roars 

The rain, the welcome rain! 



MISCELLANEOUS FOtMS. 
The sick man from his chamber looks 
At die twisted brooks 5 
He can feel the cool 
Breath of each little pool 5 
His fevered brain 
Grows calm again, 
And he breathes a blessing on the rain. 

From the neighbouring school 

Come the boys, 

With more than their wonted noise 

And commotion 5 

And down the wet streets 

Sail their mimic fleets, 

Till the treacherous pool 

Engulfs them in its whirling 

And turbulent ocean. 

In the country, on every side 

Where far and wide, 

Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide, 

Stretches the plain, 

To the dry grass and the drier grain 

How welcome is the rain ! 

In the furrowed land 

The toilsome and patient oxen stand 5 

Lifting, the yoke-encumbered head, 

With their dilated nostrils spread, 

They silently inhale 

The clover-scented gale, 

And the vapours that arise 

From the well- watered and smoking soil. 

For this rest in the furrow after toil 

Their large and lustrous eyes 

Seem to thank the Lord, 

More than man's spoken word 

Near at hand, 

From under the sheltering trees* 

The farmer sees 

His pastures, and his fields of grain, 

As they b«ad their tops 

To the numberless beating drops 



RAIN IN SUMMkR* 
Of the incessant rain. 
He counts it as no sin 
That he sees therein 
Only his own thrift and gain. 

These, and far more than these, 

The Poet sees ! 

He can behold 

Aquarius old 

Walking the fenceless fields of air, 

And from each ample fold 

Of the clouds about him rolled 

Scattering everywhere 

The showery rain, 

As the farmer scatters his grain. 

He can behold 

Things manifold 

That have not yet been wholly told, 

Have not been wholly sung nor said. 

For his thought, that never stops, 

Follows the water-drops 

Down to the graves of the d< 

Down through chasms and gulfs profound, 

To the dreary fountain-head 

Of lakes and rivers underground j 

And sees them, when the rain is done, 

On the bridge of colours seven 

Climbing up once more to heaven, 

Opposite the setting sun. 

Thus the Seer, 

With vision clear, 

Sees forms appear and disappear, 

In the perpetual round of strange, 

Mysterious change 

From birth to death, from death to birth, 

From earth to heaven, from heaven to earih j 

Till glimpses more sublime 

Of things, unseen before, 

Unto his wondering eyes reveal 

The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel 

Turning for evermore 

In the rapid and rushing river of Time. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
TO A CHILD. 

Dear child ! how radiant on thy mother s knee, 

With merry-making eyes and jocund smiles, 

Thou gazest at the painted tiles, 

Whose figures grace, 

With many a grotesque form and face, 

The ancient chimney of thy nursery ! 

The lady with the gay macaw, 

The dancing girl, the brave bashaw 

With bearded lip and chin ; 

And, leaning idly o'er his gate, 

Beneath the imperial fan of state, 

The Chinese mandarin. 

With what a look of proud command 
Thou shakest in thy little hand 
The coral rattle with its silver bells, 
Making a merry tune ! 
Thousands of years in Indian seas 
That coral grew, by slow degrees, 
Until some deadly and wild monsoon 
Dashed it on Coromandel's sand ! 
Those silver bells 
Reposed of yore, 
As shapeless ore, 

Far down in the deep-sunken wells 
Of darksome mines, 
In some obscure and sunless place, 
Beneath huge Chimborazo's base, 
Or Potosi's o'erhanging- pines ! 

And thus for thee, O little child, 

Through many a danger and escape, 

The tall ships passed the stormy cape j 

For thee in foreign lands remote, 

Beneath the burning, tropic clime, 

The Indian peasant, chasing the wild goat, 

Himself as swift and wild, 

In falling, clutched the frail arbute, 

The fibres of whose shallow root, 

Uplifted from the soil, betrayed 

The silver veins beneath it laid, 

The buried treasures of the pirate. Time. 



TO A CHILD, 53 

But, lo ! thy door is left ajar ! 
Thou hearest footsteps from afar ! 
And, at the sound, 
Thou turnest round 
With quick and questioning eyes, 
Like one, who, in a foreign land, 
Beholds on every hand 
Some source of wonder and surprise ! 
And, restlessly, impatiently, 
Thou strivest, strugglest, to be free. 
The four walls of thy nursery 
Are now like prison walls to thee. 
No more thy mother's smiles, 
No more the painted tiles, 
Delight thee, nor the playthings on the floor 
That won thy little, beating heart before ; 
Thou strugglest for the open door. 

Through these once solitary halls 

Thy pattering footstep falls. 

The sound of thy merry voice 

Makes the old walls 

Jubilant, and they rejoice 

With the joy of thy young heart, 

O'er the light of whose gladness 

No shadows of sadness 

From the sombre background of memory start. 

Once, ah, once, within these walls, 
One whom memory oft recalls, 
The Father of his Country, dwelt. 
And yonder meadows broad and damp 
The fires of the besieging camp 
Encircled with a burning belt. 
Up and down these echoing stairs, 
Heavy with the weight of cares, 
Sounded his majestic tread ; 
Yes, within this very room 
Sat he in those hours of gloom, 
Weary both in heart and head. 

But what are these grave thoughts to thee ? 

Out, out ! into the open air ! 

Thy only dream is liberty, 

Thou carest little how or where p 



.54 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

I see thee eager at thy play, 
Now shouting to the apples on he tree, 
With cheeks as round and red as they 5 
And now among the yellow stalks, 
Among the flowering shrubs and plants, 
As restless as the bee. 
Along the garden walks, 

The tracks of thy small carriage-wheels I trace ; 
And see at every turn how they efface 
Whole villages of sand-roofed tents, 
That rise like golden domes 
Above the cavernous and secret homes 
Of wandering and nomadic tribes of ants. 
Ah, cruel little Tamerlane, 
Who, with thy dreadful reign, 
Dost persecute and overwhelm 
These hapless Troglodytes of thy realm ! 

What ! tired already ! with those suppliant look; 
And voice more beautiful than a poet's books, 
Or murmuring sound of water as it flows, 
Thou comest back to parley with repose ! 
This rustic seat in the old apple-tree, 
With its o'erhanging golden canopy 
Of leaves illuminate with autumnal hues, 
And shining with the argent light of dews, 
Shall for a season be our place of rest, 
Beneath us, like an oriole's pendent nest, 
From which the laughing birds have taken wing P 
By thee abandoned, hangs thy vacant swing. 
Dream-like the waters of the river gleam ; 
A sailless vessel drops adown the stream, 
And like it, to a sea as wide and deep, 
Thou driftest gently down the tides of sleep. 

child ! O new-born denizen 
Of life's great city ! on thy head 
The glory of the morn is shed, 
Like a celestial benison ! 

Here at the portal thou dost stand, 
And with thy little hand 
Thou openest the mysterious gate 
Into the future's undiscovered land, 

1 see its valves expand, 



TO A CHILD. 55 

As at the touch of Fate ! 

Into those realms of love and hate, 

Into that darkness blank and drear, 

By some prophetic feeling taught, 

I launch the bold, adventurous thought, 

Freighted with hope and fear 5 

As upon subterranean streams, 

In caverns unexplored and dark, 

Men sometimes launch a fragile bark, 

Laden with flickering fire, 

And watch its swift-receding beams, 

Until at length they disappear, 

And in the distant dark expire. 

By what astrology of fear or hope 

Dare I to cast thy horoscope ! 

Like the new moon thy life appears 3 

A little strip of silver light, 

And widening outward into night 

The shadowy disk of future years ; 

And yet upon its outer rim, 

A luminous circle, faint and dim, 

And scarcely visible to us here, 

Rounds and completes the perfect sphere ; 

A prophecy and intimation, 

A pale and feeble adumbration, 

Of the great world of light, that lies 

Behind all human destinies. 

Ah ! if thy fate, with anguish fraught, 
Should be to wet the dusty soil 
With the hot tears and sweat of toil, — 
To struggle with imperious thought, 
Until the overburdened brain, 
Weary with labour, faint with pain, 
Like a jarred pendulum, retain 
Only its motion, not its power, — 
Remember, in that perilous hour, 
When most afflicted and oppressed, 
From labour there shall come forth rest. 

And if a more auspicious fate 
On thy advancing steps await, 
Still let it ever be thy pride 
To linger by "he labourer's side 



56 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

With words of sympathy or song 
To cheer the dreary march along 
Of the great army of the poor, 
O'er desert sand, o'er dangerous moor. 
Nor to thyself the task shall be 
Without reward ; for thou shalt learn 
The wisdom early to discern 
True beauty in utility ; 
As great Pythagoras of yore, 
Standing beside the blacksmith's door, 
And hearing the hammers, as they smote 
The anvils with a different note, 
Stole from the varying tones, that hung 
Vibrant on every iron tongue, 
The secret of the sounding wire, 
And formed the seven-chorded lyre. 

Enough ! I will not play the Seer ; 
I will no longer strive to ope 
The mystic volume, where appear 
The herald Hope, forerunning Fear, 
And Fear, the pursuivant of Hope. 
Thy destiny remains untold ; 
For, like Acestes' shaft of old, 
The swift thought kindles as it flies, 
And burns to ashes in the skies. 



THE OCCULTATION OF ORION. 

I saw, as in a dream sublime, 
The balance in the hand of time. 
O'er East and West its beam impended 5 
And day, with all its hours of light, 
Was slowly sinking out of sight, 
While, opposite, the scale of night 
Silently with the stars ascended. 

Like the astrologers of eld, 
In that bright vision I beheld 
Greater and deeper mysteries. 
I saw, with its celestial keys, 



THE OCCULTA TION OF ORION 5; 

Its chords of air, its frets of fire, 
The Samian's great iEolian lyre, 
Rising through all its sevenfold bars, 
From earth unto the fixed stars. 
And through the dewy atmosphere, 
Not only could I see, but hear, 
Its wondrous and harmonious strings, 
In sweet vibration, sphere by sphere, 
From Dian's circle light and near, 
Onward to vaster and wider rings, 
Where, chanting through his beard of snows, 
Majestic, mournful, Saturn goes, 
And down the sunless realms of space 
Reverberates the thunder of his bass. 

Beneath the sky's triumphal arch 
This music sounded like a march, 
And with its chorus seemed to be 
Preluding some great tragedy. 
Sirius was rising in the east; 
And, slow ascending one by one, 
The kindling constellations shone. 
Begirt with many a blazing star. 
Stood the great giant Algebar, 
Orion, hunter of the beast I 
His sword hung gleaming by his side. 
And, on his arm, the lion's hide 
Scattered across the midnight air 
The golden radiance of its hair. 

The moon was pallid, but not faint, 

And beautiful as some fair saint, 

Serenely moving on her way 

In hours of trial and dismay. 

As if she heard the voice of God, 

Unharmed with naked feet she trod 

Upon the hot and burning stars, 

As on the glowing coals and bars 

That were to prove her strength, and try 

Her holiness and her purity. 

Thus moving on, with silent pace, 
And triumph in her sweet, pale face, 
She reached the station of Orion. 
Aghast he stood in strange alarm I 



53 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And suddenly from his outstretched arm 

Down fell the red skin of the lion 

Into the river at his feet. 

His mighty club no longer beat 

The forehead of the bull j but he 

Reeled as of yore beside the sea, 

When, blinded by CEnopion, 

He sought the blacksmith at his forge, 

And, climbing up the mountain gorge, 

Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun. 

Then, through the silence overhead, 

An angel with a trumpet said, 

" For evermore, for evermore, 

The reign of violence is o'er !" 

And like an instrument that flings 

Its music on another's strings, 

The trumpet of the angel cast 

Upon the heavenly lyre its blast, 

And on from sphere to sphere the words 

Re-echoed down the burning chords, — 

" For evermore, for evermore, 

The reign of violence is o'er I" 



TO THE DRIVING CLOUD. 

Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omawhaws; 
Gloomy and dark, as the driving cloud, whose name thou hast take 
Wrapt in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk through the city's 
Narrow and populous streets, as once by the margin of rivers 
Stalked those birds unknown, that have left us only their footprints' 
What, in a few short years, will remain of thy race but the footprin 

How canst thou walk in these streets, who hast trod the green turf 

the prairies ? 
How canst thou breathe in this air, who hast breathed the sweet 

of the mountains ? 
Ah ! 'tis vain that with lordly looks of disdain thou dost challenge 
Looks of dislike in return, and question these walls and these pavemei 
Claiming the soil for thy hunting-grounds, while down-trodden milli. 
Starve in the garrets of Europe, and cry from its caverns that they, t 
Have been created heirs of the earth, and claim its division ! 
Back, then, back to thy woods in the regions west of the Wabash ! 



THE BRIDGE. 59 

fliere as a monarch thou reignest. In autumn the leaves of the maple 
pave the floors of thy palace-halls with gold, and in summer 
Pine-trees waft through its chambers the odorous breath of their 

branches. 
There thou art strong and great, a hero, a tamer of horses ! 
(There thou chasest the stately stag on the banks of the Elk-horn, 
■r by the roar of the Running- Water, or where the Omawhaw 
Dalls thee, and leaps through the wild ravine like a brave of the Black- 
feet! 

rlark ! what murmurs arise from the heart of those mountainous deserts ? 
i's it the cry of the Foxes and Crows, or the mighty Behemoth, 
Who, unharmed, on his tusks once caught the bolts of the thunder, 
^.nd now lurks in his lair to destroy the race of the red man ? 
Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the Crows and the Foxes, 
Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the tread of Behemoth, 
JLo! the big thunder-canoe, that steadily breasts the Missouri's 
(Merciless current! and yonder, afar on the prairies, the camp-fires 
kleam through the night j and the cloud of dust in the gray of the 

daybreak 
Marks not the buffalo's track, nor the Mandan's dexterous horse-race ; 
[t is a caravan, whitening the desert where dwell the Camanches! 
rla! how the breath of these Saxons and Celts, like the blast of the 

east-wind, 
Drifts evermore to the west the scanty smokes of thy wigwams! 



THE BRIDGE. 



t STOOD Otl the bridge at midnight, 
As the clocks were striking the hour, 

And the moon rose o'er the city, 
Behind the dark church-tower. 

I saw her bright reflection 
In the waters under me, 
Like a golden goblet falling 
I And sinking into the sea. 
i 

i 'And far in the hazy distance 
d| Of that lovely night in June, 
The blaze of the flaming furnace 
Gleamed redder than the moon. 



Among the long, black rafters 
The wavering shadows lay, 

And the current that came from the 
ocean 
Seemed to lift and bear them away ; 

A s, sweeping and eddying through them, 

Rose the belated tide, 
And, streaming into the moonlight. 

The seaweed floated wide. 

And like those waters rushing 
Among the wooden piers, 

A flood of thoughts came o'er me 
That filled my eyes with tears. 



6o 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



How often, oh, how often, 
In the days that had gone by, 

I had stood on that bridge at midnight 
And gazed on that wave and sky ! 

How often, oh, how often, 

I had wished that the ebbing tide 

Would bear me away on its bosom 
O'er the ocean wild and wide ! 

For my heart was hot and restless, 
And my life was full of care, 

And the burden laid upon me 

Seemed greater than I could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me, 

It is buried in the sea ; 
And only the sorrow of others 

Throws its shadow over me. 

Vet whenever I cross the river 
On its bridge with wooden piers, 



Like the odour of brine from the oce. 
Comes the thought of other year; 

And I think how many thousands | 
Of care-encumbered men, 

Each bearing his burden of sorrow, i 
Have crossed the bridge since the; 

I see the long procession 

Still passing to and fro, 
The young heart hot and restless, 

And the old subdued and slow. 

And for ever and for ever, 
As long as the river flows, 

As long as the heart has passions, 
As long as life has woes ; 

The moon and its broken reflection 
And its shadows shall appear, 

As the symbol of love in heaven, 
And its wavering image here. . I 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE. 

Beautiful lily, dwelling by still rivers, 

Or solitary mere, 
Or where the sluggish meadow-brook delivers 

Its waters to the weir! 

Thou laughest at the mill, the whirr and worry 

Of spindle and of loom, 
And the great wheel that toils amid the hurry 

And rushing of the flume. 

Born to the purple, born to joy and pleasance, 

Thou dost not toil nor spin, 
But makest glad and radiant with thy presence s 

The meadow and the lin. 

The wind blows, and uplifts thy drooping banner, 
And round thee throng and run 

The rushes, the green yeomen of thv manor, 
The outlaws of the sun. 



CURFEW. 
The burnished dragon-fly is thine attendant, 

• And tilts against the field, 
And down the listed sunbeam rides resplendent 
With steel-blue mail and shield. 

Thou art the Iris, fair among the fairest, 

Who, armed with golden rod 
And winged with the celestial azure, bearest 

The message of some God. 

Thou art the Muse, who far from crowded cities 

Hauntest the sylvan streams, 
Playing on pipes of reed the artless ditties 

That come to us as dreams. 

O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river 

Linger to kiss thy feet ! 
O flower of song, bloom on, and make for ever 

The world more fair and sweet. 



6*1 



CURFEW. 



Solemnly, mournfully, 

Dealing its dole, 
The Curfew Bell 

Is beginning to toll. 

Cover the embers, 

And put out the light ; 
Toil comes with the morning, 

And rest with the night. 

Dark grow the windows 
And quenched is the fire j 

Sound fades into silence, — 
All footsteps retire* 

No voice in the chambers, 
No sound in the hall ! 

Sleep and oblivion 
Reign over all. 



The book is completed, 
And closed, like the day ; 

And the hand that has written it 
Lays it away. 

Dim grow its fancies, 

Forgotten they lie ; 
Like coals in the ashes, 

They darken and die. 

Song sinks into silence, 

The story is told, 
The windows are darkened, 

The hearth-stone is cold. 



Darker and darker 
The black shadows 

Sleep and oblivion 
Reign over all. 



fall; 



62 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE KALIF OF BALDACCA. 

Into the city of Kambalu, 
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan, 
At the head of his dusty caravan, 
Laden with treasure from realms afar, 
Baldacca, and Kelat, and Kandahar, 
Rode the great captain Alau. 

The Khan from his palace window gazed : 

He saw in the thronging street beneath, 

In the light of the setting sun, that blazed 

Through the clouds of dust by the caravan raised, 

The flash of harness and jewelled sheath, 

And the shining scymitars of the guard, 

And the weary camels, that bared their teeth, 

As they passed and passed, through the gates unbarred 

Into the shade of the palace yard. 

Thus into the city of Kambalu 

Rode the great captain Alau ; 

And he stood before the Khan, and said, — 
" The enemies of my lord are dead ; 

All the Kalifs of all the West 

Bow and obey his least behest; 
' The plains are dark with the mulberry-trees, 

The weavers are busy in Samarcand, 

The miners are sifting the golden sand, 

The divers are plunging for pearls- in the seas, 

And peace and plenty are in the land. 

"Only Baldacca's Kalif alone 
Rose in rebellion against thy throne ; 
His treasures are at thy palace door, 
With the swords, and the shawls, and the jewels he wore j 
His body is dust o'er the Desert blown. 

" A mile outside of Baldacca's gate 
I left my forces to lie in wait, 
Concealed by forests and hillocks of sand, 
And forward dashed with a handful of men 
To lure the old tiger from his den 
Into the ambush I had planned. 



THE KALIF OF BALDACCA. 63 

Ere we reached the town the alarm was spread, 
For we heard the sound of gongs from within j 
With clash of cymbals and warlike din 
The gates swung wide ; we turned and fled, 
And the garrison sallied forth and pursued, 
With the grey old Kalif at their head, 
And above them the banner of Mahomed : 
Thus we snared them all, and the town was subdued. 

"As in at the gate we rode, behold, 
A tower that was called the Tower of Gold ! 
For there the Kalif had hidden his wealth, 
Heaped, and hoarded, and piled on high, 
Like sacks of wheat in a granary, 
And there the old miser crept by stealth 
To feel of the gold that gave him health, 
To gaze, and gloat with his hungry eye 
On jewels that gleamed like a glowworm's spark, 
Or the eyes of a panther in the dark. 

"I said to the Kalif, 'Thou art old, 
Thou hast no need of so much gold. 
Thou shouldst not have heaped and hidden it here, 
Till the breath of battle was hot and near, 
But have sown through the land these useless hoards, 
To spring into shining blades of swords, 
And keep thine honour sweet and clear. 
These grains of gold are not grains oi wheat • 
These bars of silver thou canst not eat ; 
These jewels and pearls and precious stones 
Cannot cure the aches in thy bones, 
Nor keep the feet of Death one hour 
From climbing the stairways of thy tower !' 

"Then into this dungeon I locked the drone, 
And left him to feed there all alone 
In the honey-cells of his golden hive : 
Never a prayer, nor a cry, nor a groan, 
Was heard from those massive walls of stone, 
Nor again was the Kalif seen alive ! 

" When at last we unlocked the door, 
We found him dead upon the floor ; 
The rings had dropped from his withered hands, 
His teeth were like bon<*s in the desert sands; 



64 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Still clutching his treasures he had died 5 
And as he lay there,, he appeared 
A statue of gold with a silver beard, 
His arms outstretched as if crucified." 

This is the story, strange and true, 
That the great captain Alau 
Told to his brother the Tartar Khan, 
When he rode that day into Kambalu, 
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan. 
June, 1864. 



PALINGENESIS. 

I lay upon the headland height, and listened 
To the incessant sobbing of the sea 

In caverns under me, 
And watched the waves, that tossed and fled and glistened 
Until the rolling meadows of amethyst 

Melted away in mist. 

Then suddenly, as one from sleep, I started ; 
For round about me all the sunny capes 

Seemed peopled with the shapes 
Of those whom I had known in days departed, 
Apparelled in the loveliness which gleams 

On faces seen in dreams. 

A moment only, and the light and glory 
Faded away, and the disconsolate shore 

Stood lonely as before ; 
And the wild roses of the promontory 
Around me shuddered in the wind, and shed 

Their petals of pale red. 

There was an old belief that in the embers 
Of all things their primordial form exists 

And cunning alchemists 
Could re-create the rose with all its members 
m its own ashes, but without the bloom, 

Without the lost perfume. 



P'ALINGENESIS. 

Ah, me ! what wonder-working, occult science 
Can from the ashes in our hearts once more 

The rose of youth restore ? 
What craft of alchemy can bid defiance 
To time and change, and for a single hour 

Renew this phantom flower ? 

"Oh, give me back," I cried, " the vanished splendours, 
The breath of morn, and the exultant strife, 

When the swift btream of life 
Bounds over its rocky channel, and surrenders 
The pond, with all its lilies, for the Leap 

Into the unknown deep!" 

And the sea answered, with a lamentation, 
Like some old prophet wailing, and it said, 

" Alas ! thy youth is dead ! 
It breathes no more, its heart has no pulsation, 
In the dark places with the dead of old, 

It lies for ever cold !" 

'\ 11 slid I, " From its Consecrated cerements 

I will not drag this sacred dust again, 

Only to give me pain ; 
But, still remembering all the lost endearments, 

Go on my way, like one who looks before, 
And turns to weep no more." 

Into what land of harvests, what plantations 
Bright with autumnal foliage and the glow 

Of sunsets burning low ; 
Beneath what midnight skies, whose constellations 
Light up the spacious avenues between 

This world and the unseen ! 

Amid what friendly greetings and caresses, 
What households, though not alien, yet not mine, 

' What bowers of re.->t divine ; 
To what temptations in lone wildernesses, 
What famine of the heart, what pain and loss, 
The bearing of what cross! 

I do not know ; nor will I vainly question 
Those pages of the mystic book which hold 
The story still untold, 



(56 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

But without rash conjecture or suggestion 
Turn its last leaves in reverence and good heed, 
Until " The End" I read. 
July, 1864. 



HAWTHORNE. 

May 23, 1864. 

How beautiful it was, that one bright day 
In the long week of rain ! 
Though all its splendour could not chase away 
The omnipresent pain. 

The lovely town was white with apple-blooms, 
And the great elms o'erhead, 
Dark shadows wove on their aerial looms, 
Shot through with golden thread. 

Across the meadows, by the grey old manse, 
The historic river flowed ; — 
I was as one who wanders in a trance, 
Unconscious of his road. 

The faces of familiar friends seemed strange ; 
Their voices I could hear, 

And yet the words they uttered seemed to change 
Their meaning to the ear. 

For the one face I looked for was not there, 
The one low voice was mute j 
Only an unseen presence filled the air, 
And baffled my pursuit. 

Now I look back, and meadow, manse, and stream, 

Dimly my thought defines 5 

I only see — a dream within a dream — 

The hill-top hearsed with pines. 

I only hear above his place of rest 
Their tender undertone, 
The infinite longings of a troubled breast, 
The voice so like his own. 



CHRISTMAS BELLS. 
There in seclusion and remote from men 
The wizard hand lies cold, 
Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen, 
And left the tale half told. 



67 



Ah ! who shall lift that wand of magic power. 
And the lost clue regain ? 
The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower, 
Unfinished must remain ! 



THE SEA-DIVER. 



Iy way is on the bright blue sea, 
My sleep upon the rocky tide; 

ind many an eye has followed me, 
Where billows clasp the worn sea- 
side. 

fly plumage bears the crimson blush, 
When ocean by the sun is kissed ! 

jVhen fades the evening's purple flush, 
My dark wing cleaves the silver mist. 

'ull many a fathom down beneath 
The bright arch of the splendid deep, 

ly ear has heard the sea-shell breathe 
O'er living myriads in their sleep. 

i'hey rested by the coral throne, 
And by the pearly diadem, 

Where the pale sea-grape had o'ergrown 
The glorious dwelling made for them. 



At night upon my storm-drenched wing, 
I poised above a helmless bark, 

And soon I saw the shattered thing 
Had passed away and left no mark. 

And when the wind and storm had done, 
A ship that had rode out the gale, 

Sunk down without a signal-gun, 
And none was left to tell the tale. 

I saw the pomp of day depart — 
The cloud resign its golden crown, 

When to the ocean's beating heart 
The sailor's wasted corse went down. 

Peace be to those whose graves are made 
Beneath the bright and silver sea! 

Peace that their relics there were laid, 
With no vain pride and pageantry. 



CHRISTMAS BELLS. 

I heard the bells on Christmas Day 
Their old, familiar carols play, 

And wild and sweet 

The words repeat 
Of peace on earthy good-will to men ! 



68 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And thought how, as the day had come. 
The belfries of all Christendom 

Had rolled along 

The unbroken song 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 

Till, ringing, singing on its way, 
The world revolved from night to day, 

A voice, a chime, 

A chant sublime 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! 

Then from each black, accursed mouth 
The cannon thundered in the South, 

And with the sound 

The carols drowned 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 

It was as if an earthquake rent 
The hearthstones of a continent, 

And made forlorn 

The households born 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 

And in despair I bowed my head; 
" There is no peace on earth," I said 3 

(( For hate is strong, 

And mocks the song 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men !" 

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep : 
" God is not dead! nor doth he sleep ! 

The Wrong shall fail, 

The Right prevail, 
With peace on earth, good-will to men!" 



THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD. 



Burn, O evening hearth, and waken 
Pleasant visions, as of old ! 
Though the house by winds be shaken, 
Safe I keep this room of gold. 

Ah, no longer wizard Fancy 
Builds its castles in the air, 



Luring me by necromancy 
Up the never-ending stair. 

But, instead, it builds me bridges 
Over many a dark ravine, 
Where beneath the gusty ridges, 
Cataracts dash and roar unseen. 



And I cross them, little heeding 
Blast of wind, or torrent's roar, 
As I follow the receding 
Footsteps that have gone before. 

Nought avails the imploring gesture, 
Nought avails the cry of pain ! 
When I touch the flying vesture, 
Tis the grey robe of the rain. 

Baffled I return, and leaning 
O'er the parapets of cloud, 
Watch the mist that intervening 
Wraps the valley in its shroud. 

And the sounds of life ascending 
Feebly, vaguely, meet the ear, 
September, 1864. 



NOEL, 69 

Murmur of bells and voices blending 
With the rush of waters near. 



Well I know what there lies hidden, 
Every tower, and town, and farm, 
And again the land forbidden 
Rcassumes its vanished charm. 

Well I know the secret places, 
And the nests in hedge and tree ; 
At what doors are friendly faces, 
In what hearts a thought of me. 

Through the mist and darkness sinking, 
Blown by wind, and beaten by shower, 
Down I fling the thought I'm thinking, 
Down I toss this Alpine flower. 



NOEL.* 

L'Acndcmic en respect, 
Nonobstant I'incorrcction, 
A la faveur du sujet, 

Ture-lure, 
N'y fera point de rature; 
Noiil! turc-lure-lure. 

Gui-Baruzai 



Quand les astres de Noi'l 
Brillaient, palpitaient au eiel, 

Six gaillards, et chaeun ivre, 
Chantaient gaiment dans le givre, 

" Bons amis, 
Allons done chez Agassiz !" 

Ccs illustres Pelcrins 
D'Outre Mer, adroits et fins, 
Se donnant des airs de pretre, 
A l'envi se vantaient d'etre 

" Bons amis, 
De Jean Rudolphe Agassiz." 

(Eil-de-Perdrix, grand farceur, 
Sans reproche et sans pudeur, 
Dans son patois de Bourgogne, 



Bredouillait commc un ivrognc, 

" Bons amis, 
J'ai danse chez Agassiz !' 

Verzenay le Champenois, 
Bon Fran9ais, point New-Yorquois, 
Mais des environs d'Avize, 
Fredonne, a maintes reprises, 

" Bons amis, 
J'ai chante chez Agassiz !" 

A cote marchait un vieux 
Hidalgo, mais non mousscux ; 
Dans le temps de Charlemagne, 
Fut son pere Grand d'Espagne ! 

"Bons amis, 
J'ai dine chez Agassiz!" 



* Sent to Mr. Agassiz, with a basket oi wine, on Christmas Eve, 1064. 



;o MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Derriere eux un Bordelais, 
Gascon, s'il en flit jamais, 
Parfume de poesie 
Riait, chantait plein de vie, 

" Bons amis, 
J'ai soupe chez Agassiz ! " 



Avec ce beau cadet roux, 
Bras dessus et bras dessous, 
Mine altiere et couleur terne, 
Vint le Sire de Sauterne ; 

" Bons amis, 
J'ai couche chez Agassiz !" 

Mais le dernier de ces preux 
Etait un pauvre Chartreux, 
Qui disait, d'un ton robuste, 
,! Benedictions sur le Juste ! 
Bons amis, 
Benissons Pere Agassiz !" 



lis arrivent trois a trois, 
Montent l'escalier de bois 
Clopin-clopant ! quel gendarme 
Peut permettre ce vacarme, 

Bons amis", 
A la porte d'Agassiz ! 



" Ouvrez done, mon bon seigneur, 
Ouvrez vite et n'ayez peur ; 
Ouvrez, ouvrez, car nous sommes 
Gens de bien et gentilshommes, 

Bons amis, 
De la famille Agassiz." 

Chut, ganaches ! taisez-vous ! 
C'en est trop de vos glouglour 
Epargnez aux Philosophes 
Vos abominables strophes ! 

Bons amis, 
Respectez mon Agassiz, 



THE WIND OVER THE CHIMNEY. 

See, the fire is sinking low, 
Dusky red the embers glow, 

While above them still I cower, — 
While a moment more I linger, 
Though the clock, with lifted finger. 

Points beyond the midnight hour. 

Sings the blackened log a tune 
Learned in some forgotten June 

From a schoolboy in his play, 
When they both were young together. 
Heart of youth and summer weather 

Making all their holiday. 

And the night-wind rising, hark ! 
How above there in the dark, 

In the midnight and the snow, 
Ever wilder, fiercer, grander, 
Like the trumpets of Iskander, 

All the noisy chimneys blow ! 



THE WIND OVER THE CHIMNEY. fi 

Every quivering tongue of flame 
Seems to murmur some great name, 

Seems to say to me, "Aspire !" 
But the night-wind answers, — " Hollow 
Are the visions that you follow ; 

Into darkness sinks your tire !" 

Then the flicker of the blaze 
Gleams on volumes of old days, 

Written by masters of the art, 
Loud through those majestic pages 
Rolls the melody of ages, 

Throb the harp-strings of the heart. 

And again the tongues of flame 
Start exulting' and exclaim, — 

" These are prophets, bards, and seers j 
In the horoscope of nations, 
Like ascendant constellations, 

They control the coming years.' * 

But the night-wind cries, — " Despair ! 
Those who walk with feet of air 

Leave no iong-enduring marks ; 
At God's forges incandescent 
Mighty hammers beat incessant, 

These are but the flying sparks. 

"Dust are all the hands that wrought; 
Books are sepulchres of thought ; 

The dead laurels of the dead 
Rustle for a moment only, 
Like the withered leaves in lonely 

Churchyards at some passing tread.'* 

Suddenly the flame sinks down ; 
Sink the rumours of renown; 

And alone the night-wind drear 
Clamours louder, wilder, vaguer, 
*' 'Tis the brand of Meleager 

Dying on the hearth-stone here !" 

And I answer, — "Though it be, 
Why should that discomfort me ? 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
No endeavour is in vain j 
Its reward is in the doing, 
And the rapture of pursuing 

Is the prize the vanquished gain." 
January 1865. 



KILLED AT THE FORD. 

He is dead, the beautiful youth, 

The heart of honour, the tongue of truth, — 

He, the life and light of us all, 

Whose voice was as blithe as a bugle call 

Whom all eyes followed with one consent, 

The cheer of whose laugh, and whose pleasant word, 

Hushed all murmurs of discontent. 

Only last night, as we rode along, 

Down the dark of the mountain gap, 

To visit the picquet-guard at the ford, 

Little dreaming of any mishap, 

He was humming the words of some old song : 

Two red roses he had on his cap, 

And another he bore at the point of his sword, 1 ' 

Sudden and swift a whistling ball 

Came out of a wood, and the voice was still j 

Something I heard in the darkness fall, 

And for a moment my blood grew chill 5 

I spake in a whisper, as he who speaks 

In a room when some one is lying dead ; 

But he made no answer to what I said. 

We lifted him on his saddle again, 

And through the mire, and the mist, and the rain 

Carried him back to the silent camp, 

And laid him as if asleep on his bed ; 

And I saw by the light of the surgeon's lamp . 

Two white roses upon his cheeks, 

And one just over his heart blood-red ! 

And I saw in a vision how far and fleet 
That fatal bullet went speeding forth, 
Till it reached a town in the distant North, 



THE BELLS OF LYNN. 
Till it reached a house in a sunny street, 
Till it reached a heart that ceased to beat 
Without a murmur, without a cry ; 
And a bell was tolled in that far-off town, 
For one who had passed from cross to crown, — 
And the neighbours wonde.red that she should die. 
April, 1866. 



THE BELLS OF LYNN, HEARD AT NAHAXT. 

O Curfew of the setting sun ! O bells of Lynn ! 
O requiem of the dying day ! O bells of Lynn ! 

From the dark belfries of yon cloud-cathedral wafted, 
Your sounds aerial seem to float, O bells of Lynn ! 

Borne on the evening wind across the crimson twilight, 
O'er land and sea they rise and fall, O bells of Lynn ! 

The fisherman in his boat, far out beyond the headland, 
Listens and leisurely rows ashore, O bells of Lynn ! 

Over the shining sands, the wandering cattle homeward 
Follow each other to your call, O bells of Lynn ! 

The distant lighthouse hears, and with his flaming signal, 
Answers you, passing the watchword on, O bells of Lynn ! 

And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous surges, 
And clap their hands, and shout to you, O bells of Lynn! 

Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantation, 
Ye summon up the spectral moon, O bells of Lynn ! 

And startled at the sight, like the weird woman of Endoi", 
Ye cry aloud, and then are still, O bells of Lynn ! 




POEMS ON SLAVERY. 

1842. 



[The following Poems, with one exception, were written at sea, in the latter 
part of October, 1842. I had not then heard of Dr. Channing's death. Since 
that event, the poem addressed to him is no longer appropriate. I have decided, 
however, to let it remain as it was written, a feeble testimony of my admiration 
for a great and good man.] 



TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING. 

The pages of thy book I read, 

And as I closed each one, 
My heart, responding, ever said, 

" Servant of God ! well done !" 

Well done ! Thy words are great and bold ; 

At times they seem to me 
Like Luther's, in the days of old, 

Half-battles for the free. 

Go on, until this land revokes 

The old and chartered Lie, 
The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes 

Insult humanity. 

A voice is ever at thy side 

Speaking in tones of might, 
Like the prophetic voice, that cried 

To John in Patmos, "Write !" 

Write ! and tell out this bloody tale ; 

Record this dire eclipse, 
This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail, 

This dread Apocalypse ! 



THE SLAVE'S DREAM. 75 

THE SLAVE'S DREAM. 

Beside the ungathered rice he lay, 

His sickle in his hand ; 
His breast was bare, his matted hair 

Was buried in the sand. 
Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, 

He saw his Native Land. 

Wide through the landscape of his dreams 

The lordly Niger flowed j 
Eeneath the palm-trees on the plain 

Once more a king he strode ; 
And heard the tinkling caravans 

Descend the mountain-road. 

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen 

Among her children stand ; 
They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, 

They held him by the hand ! — 
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids 

And fell into the sand. 

And then at furious speed he rode 

Along the Niger's bank; 
His bridle-reins were golden chains, 

And, with a martial clank, 
At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel 

Smiting his stallion's flank. 

Before him, like a blood-red flag, 

The bright flamingoes flew ; 
From morn till night he followed their flight, 

O'er plains where the tamarind grew, 
Till he saw the roofs of Caftre huts, 

And the ocean rose to view. 

At night he heard the lion roar, 

And the hyaena scream ; 
And the river-horse as he crushed the reeds 

Beside some hidden stream ; 
And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, 

Through the triumph of his dream. 



76 POEMS ON SLAVERY. 

The forests, with their myriad tongues, 

Shouted of liberty ; 
And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud, 

With a voice so wild and free, 
That he started in his sleep and smiled 

At their tempestuous glee. 

He did not feel the driver's whip, 
Nor the burning heat of day ; 

For death had illumined the Land of Sleep, 
And his lifeless body lay 

A worn-out fetter, that the soul 
Had broken and thrown away ! 



THE GOOD PART THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY. 

She dwells by Great Kenhawa's side, 

In valleys green and cool ; 
And all her hope and all her pride 

Are in the village school. 

Her soul, like the transparent air 

That robes the hills above, 
Though not of earth, encircles there 

All things with arms of love. 

And thus she walks among her girls 

With praise and mild rebukes ; 
Subduing e'en rude village churls 

By her angelic looks. 

She reads to them at eventide 

Of One who came to save ; 
To cast the captive's chains aside, 

And liberate the slave. 

And oft the blessed time foretells 

When all men shall be free ; 
And musical, as silver bells, 

Their falling chains shall be. 



THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP, 
And following her beloved Lord, 

In decent poverty, 
She makes her life one sweet record 

And deed of charity. 

For she was rich, and gave up all 

To break the iron bands 
Of those who waited in her hall, 

And laboured in her lands. 

Long since beyond the Southern Sea 
Their outbound sails have sped, 

While she, in meek humility, 
Now earns her daily bread. 

It is their prayers, which never cease, 
That clothe her with such grace } 

Their blessing is the light of peace 
That shines upon her face. 



THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP. 

In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp 

The hunted Negro lay ; 
He saw the fire of the midnight camp, 
And heard at times a horse's tramp 

And a bloodhound's distant bay. 

Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow-worms shine, 

In bulrush and in brake; 
Where waving mosses shroud the pine, 
And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine 

Is spotted like the snake j 

Where hardly a human foot could pass, 

Or a human heart would dare, 
On the quaking turf of the green morass 
He crouched in the rank and tangled grass, 

Like a wild beast in his lair. 

A poor old slave, infirm and lame ; 

Great scars deformed his face ; 
On his forehead he bore the brand of shame, 
And the rags, that hid his mangled frame, 

Were the livery of disgrace. 



POEMS ON SLA VER \\ 
All things above were bright and fair, 

All things were glad and free ; 
Lithe squirrels darted here and there, 
And wild birds rilled the echoing air 

With songs of Liberty ! 

On him alone was the doom of pain, 

From the morning of his birth -, 
On him alone the curse of Cain 
Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain, 
And struck him to the earth ! 



THE QUADROON GIRL. 

The Slaver in the broad lagoon 
Lay moored with idle sail; 

He waited for the rising moon, 
And for the evening gale. 

Under the shore his boat was tied^ 

And all her listless crew 
Watched the gray alligator slide 

Into the still bayou. 

Odours of orange-flowers, and spice, 
Reached them from time to time, 

Like airs that breathe from Paradise 
Upon a world of crime. 

The Planter, under his roof of thatch, 
Smoked thoughtfully and slow; 

The Slaver's thumb was on the latch, 
He seemed in haste to go. 

He said, " My ship at anchor rides 

In yonder broad lagoon ; 
I only wait the evening tides, 

And the rising of the moon." 

Before them, with her face upraised, 

In timid attitude, 
Like one half curious, half amazed, 

A Quadroon maiden stood. 



THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT. ; 

Her eyes were large, and full of light, 

Her arms and neck were bare ; 
No garment she wore, save a kirtle bright, 
And her own long, raven hair. 

And on her lips there played a smile 

As holy, meek, and faint, 
As lights in some cathedral aisle 

The features of a saint. 

"The soil is barren, — the farm is old 5" 

The thoughtful Planter said • 
Then looked upon the Slaver's gold, 

And then upon the maid. 

His heart within him was at strife 

With such accursed gains ; 
For he knew whose passions gave her life, 

Whose blood ran in her veins. 

But the voice of nature was too weak ; 

He took the glittering gold ! 
Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek, 

Her hands as icy cold. 

The Slaver led her from the door, 

He led her by the hand, 
To be his slave and paramour 
In a strange and distant land ! 



THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT. 

Loud he sang the Psalm of David ! 
He, a Negro, and enslaved, 
Sang of Israel's victory, 
Sang of Zion, bright and free. 

In that hour, when night is calmest, 
Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist, 
In a voice so sweet and clear 
That I could not choose but hear. 

Songs of triumph, and ascriptions, 
Such as reached the swart Egyptians, 
When upon the Red Sea coast 
Perished Pharaoh and his host. 



POEMS ON SLAVERY. 
And the voice of his devotion 
Filled my soul with strange emotion 5 
For its tones by turns were glad, 
Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. 

Paul and Silas, in their prison, 
Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen, 
And an earthquake's arm of might 
Broke their dungeon-gates at night. 

But, alas ! what holy angel 
Brings the slave this glad evangel ? 
And what earthquake's arm of might 
Breaks his dungeon-gates at night ? 



THE WITNESSES. 

In Ocean's wide domains, 

Half buried in the sands, 
Lie skeletons in chains, 

With shackled feet and hands. 

Beyond the fall of dews, 

Deeper than plummet lies, 
Float ships with all their crews, 

No more to sink nor rise. 

There the black Slave-ship swims, 
Freighted with human forms, 

Whose fettered, fleshless limbs 
Are not the sport of storms. 

These are the bones of Slaves ; 

They gleam from the abyss ; 
They cry, from yawning waves, 

" We are the Witnesses !" 

Within Earth's wide domains 
Are markets for men's lives ; 

Their necks are galled with chains, 
Their wrists are cramped with gyves. 



THE WARNING. 81 

Dead bodies, that the kite 

In deserts makes its prey; 
Murders, that with affright 

Scare schoolboys from their play ! 

All evil thoughts and deeds j 

Anger, and lust, and pride j 
The foulest, rankest weeds, 

That choke Life's groaning tide ! 

These are the woes of Slaves ; 

They glare from the abyss j 
They cry from unknown graves, 

" We are the Witnesses !" 



THE WARNING. 

Beware ! The Israelite of old, who tore 

The lion in his path, — when, poor and blind, 

He saw the blessed light of heaven no more, 
Shorn of his noble strength and forced to grind 

In prison, and at last led forth to be 

A pander to Philistine revelry, — 

Upon the pillars of the temple laid 

His desperate hands, and in its overthrow 

Destroyed himself, and with him those who made 
A cruel mockery of his sightless woe ; 

The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and jest of all, 

Expired, and thousands perished in the fall ! 

There is a poor, blind Samson in this land, 

Shorn of his strength, and bound in bonds of steel, 

Who may, in some grim revel, raise his hand, 
And shake the pillars of this Commonweal, 

Till the vast Temple of our liberties 

A shapeless mass of wreck and rubbish lies. 



SONGS. 



SEA-WEED. 

When descends on the Atlantic 

The gigantic 
Storm-wind of the equinox, 
Landward in his wrath he scourges 

The toiling surges, 
Laden with sea- weed from the rocks : 

From Bermuda's reefs 5 from edges 

Of sunken ledges, 
In some far-off, bright Azore ; 
From Bahama, and the dashing, 

Silver-flashing 
Surges of San Salvador; 

From the tumbling surf, that buries 

The Orkneyan skerries, 
Answering the hoarse Hebrides ; 
And from wrecks of ships, and drifting 

Spars, uplifting 
On the desolate, rainy seas 3 — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless main ; 
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches 

Of sandy beaches, 
All have found repose again. 

So when storms of wild emotion 

Strike the ocean 
Of the poets soul, ere long 
From each cave and rocky fastness 

In its vastness, 
Floats some fragment of a song . 



TO AN OLD DANISH SONG-BOOK. 83 

From the far-off isles enchanted, 

Heaven has planted 
With the golden fruit of Truth ; 
From the flashing surf, whose vision 

Gleams Elysian 
In the tropic clime of Youth 5 

From the strong Will and the Endeavour 

That for ever 
Wrestle with the tides of Fate ; 
From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered, 

Tempest-shattered, 
Floating waste and desolate j — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting- 
Currents of the restless heart ; 
Till at length in books recorded, 

They, like hoarded 
Household Words, 110 more depart. 



TO AN OLD DANISH SONG-BOOK, 

Welcome, my old friend, 
Welcome to a foreign lire-side, 
While the sullen gales of autumn 
Shake the windows. 

The ungrateful world 
Has, it seems, dealt harshly with thee, 
Since, beneath the skies of Denmark, 
First I met thee. 

There are marks of age, 
There are thumb-marks on thy margin, 
iNIade by hands that clasped thee rudely 
At the alehouse. 

Soiled and dull thou art j 
Yellow are thy time-worn pages, 
As the russet, rain-molested 
Leaves of autumn. 



84 SONGS. 

Thou art stained with wine 
Scattered from hilarious goblets, 
As these leaves with the libations 
Of Olympus. 

Yet dost thou recall 
Days departed, half-forgotten, 
When in dreamy youth I wandered 
By the Baltic, — 

When I paused to hear 
The old ballad of King Christian 
Shouted from suburban taverns 
In the twilight. 

Thou recallest bards, 
Who, in solitary chambers, 
And with hearts by passion wasted, 
Wrote thy pages. 

Thou recallest homes 
Where thy songs of love and friendship 
Made the gloomy Northern winter 
Bright as summer. 

Once some ancient Scald, 
In his bleak, ancestral Iceland, 
Chanted staves of these old ballads 
To the Vikings. 

Once in Elsinore, 
At the court of old King Hamlet, 
Yorick and his boon companions 
Sang these ditties 

Once Prince Frederick's Guard 
Sang them in their smoky barracks j— 
Suddenly the English cannon 
Joined the chorus ! 

Peasants in the field, 
Sailors on the roaring ocean, 
Students, tradesmen, pale mechanics, 
All have sung them. 



THE DA Y IS DONE. S5 

Thou hast been their friend ; 
They, alas, have left thee friendless ! 
Yet at least by one warm fireside 
Art thou welcome. 

And, as swallows build 
In these wide, old-fashioned chimneys. 
So thy twittering songs shall nestle 
In my bosom, — 

Quiet, close, and warm, 
Sheltered from all molestation, 
And recalling by their voices 
Youth and travel. 



THE ARROW AND THE SOXG. 

I shot an arrow into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For who has sight so keen and strong, 
That it can follow the flight of song ? 

Long, long afterward, in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke ; 
And the song from beginning to end, 
I found again in the heart of a friend 



THE DAY IS DONE. 

The day is done, and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of Night, 

As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight. 



85 SONGS. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the mist, 
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, 

That my soul cannot resist : 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 
That is not akin to pain, 

And resembles sorrow only 
As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem, 
Some simple and heartfelt lay, 

That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
And banish the thoughts of day. 

Not from the grand old masters, 
Not from the bards sublime, 

Whose distant footsteps echo 
Through the corridors of Time. 

For, like strains of martial music, 
Their mighty thoughts suggest 

Life's endless toil and endeavour ; 
And to-night I long for rest. 

Read from some humbler poet, 

Whose songs gushed from his heart, 

As showers from the clouds of summer^ 
Or tears from the eyelids start ; 

Who, through long days of labour, 
And nights devoid of ease, 

Still heard in his soul the music 
Of wonderful melodies. 

Such songs have power to quiet 
The restless pulse of care, 

And come like the benediction 
That follows after prayer. 

Then read from the treasured volume 
The poem of thy choice, 

And lend to the rhyme of the poet 
The beauty of thy voice. 



WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID. 
And the night shall be filled with music, 

And the cares that infest the day, 
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 



87 



AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY. 



The day is ending, 
The night is descending ; 
The marsh is frozen, 
The river dead. 

Through clouds like ashes 
The red sun flashes 
On village windows 
That glimmer red. 

The snow recommences ; 
The buried fences 
Mark no longer 

The road o'er the plain ; 



While through the meadows 
Like fearful shadows, 
Slowly passes 
A funeral train. 

The bell is pealing. 
And every feeling 
Within me responds 
To the dismal knell ; 

Shadows are trailing, 
My heart is bewailing 
And toiling within 
Like a funeral bell. 



WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID/ 

Vogelweid the Minnesinger, 
When he left this world of ours, 

Laid his body in the cloister, 

Under Wiirtzburg's minster towers. 

And he gave the monks his treasures, 
Gave them all with this behest-: 

They should feed the birds at noontide 
Daily on his place of rest ; 



* Walter von der Vogelweid, or Bird-Meadow, was one of the principal Minne- 
ngers of the thirteenth century. He triumphed over Heinrich von Ofterdingen in 
lat poetic contest at Wartburg Castle, known in literary history as the "War of 
Vartbursr." 



SONGS. 

Saying, " From these wandering minstrels 
I have learned the art of song ; 

Let me now repay the lessons 

They have taught so well and long." 

Thus the bard of love departed 5 

And, fulfilling his desire, 
On his tomb the birds were feasted 

By the children of the choir. 

Day by day, o'er tower and turret, 

In foul weather and in fair, 
Day by day, in vaster numbers, 

Flocked the poets of the air. 

On the tree whose heavy branches 

Overshadowed all the place, 
On the pavement, on the tombstone. 

On the poet's sculptured face, 

On the cross-bars of each window, 

On the lintel of each door, 
They renewed the War of Wartburg, 

Which the bard had fought before. 

There they sang their merry carols, 
Sang their lauds on every side ; 

And the name their voices uttered 
Was the name of Vogelweid. 

Till at length the portly abbot 

Murmured, " Why this waste of food ? 
Be it changed to loaves henceforward 

For our fasting brotherhood." 

Then in vain o'er tower and turret, 
From the walls and woodland nests, 

When the minster bell rang noontide, 
Gathered the unwelcome guests. 

Then in vain, with cries discordant, 
Clamorous round the Gothic spire, 

Screamed the feathered Minnesingers 
For the children of the choir. 



DRINKING SONG. 
Time has long effaced the inscriptions 

On the cloister's funeral stones, 
And tradition only tells us 

Where repose the poet's bones. 

But around the vast cathedral, 
By sweet echoes multiplied, 

Still the birds repeat the legend, 
And the name of Vocrelweid. 



DRINKING SONG. 

INSCRIPTION FOR AN ANTIQUE PITCHER. 

Come, old friend ! sit down and listen ! 

From the pitcher placed between us, 
How the waters laugh and glisten 

In the head of old Silenus ! 

Old Silenus, bloated, drunken, 

Led by his inebriate Satyrs ; 
On his breast his head is sunken, 

Vacantly he leers and chatters. 

Fauns with youthful Bacchus follow j 
Ivy crowns that brow supernal 

As the forehead of Apollo, 
And possessing youth eternal. 

Round about him, fair Bacchantes, 
Bearing cymbals, flutes, and thvrscs, 

Wild from Naxian groves, or Zante's 
Vineyards, sing delirious verses. 

Thus he won, through all the nations, 
Bloodless victories, and the farmer 

Bore, as trophies and oblations, 

Vines for banners, ploughs for armour 

Judged by no o'er-zealous rigour 
Much this mystic throng expresses : 

Bacchus was the type of vigour, 
And Silenus of excesses. 



9 o SONGS. 

These are ancient ethnic revels, 

Of a faith long since forsaken j 
Now the Satyrs, changed to devils, 
Frighten mortals wine-o'ertaken. 

Now to rivulets from the mountains 
Point the rods of fortune-tellers ; 

Youth perpetual dwells in fountains, — 
Not in flasks, and casks and cellars. 

Claudius, though he sang of flagons 
And huge flagons filled with Rhenish, 

From that fiery blood of dragons 
Never would his own replenish. 

Even Redi, though he chaunted 
Bacchus in the Tuscan valleys, 

Never drank the wine he vaunted 
In his dithyrambic sallies. 

Then with water fill the pitcher 
Wreathed about with classic fables j 

Ne'er Falernian threw a richer 
Light upon Lucullus' tables. 

Come, old friend, sit down and listen ! 

As it passes thus between us, 
How its wavelets laugh and glisten 

In the head of old Silenus ! 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 

[L'eternite est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et redit sans cesse ces deux t 
seulement, dans le silence des tombeaux : " Toujours ! jamais ! Jamais ! toujours ' 
Jacques Bridaine.] 

Somewhat back from the village street 
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat j 
Across its antique portico 
Tall poplar trees their shadows throw, 
And from its station in the hall 
An ancient timepiece says to all, 
" For eyer — never ! 
Never — forever!" 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 91 

Halfway up the stairs it stands, 
And points and beckons with its hands 
From its case of massive oak, 
Like a monk, who, under his cloak, 
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — 
" For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever!" 

By day its voice is low and light j 
But in the silent dead of night, 
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 
It echoes along the vacant hall, 
Along the ceiling, along the floor, 
And seems to say at each chamber-door 
" For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever !" 

Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
Through dayfi of death and days of birth, 
Through every swift vicissitude 
Of changeful time, Unchanged it has stood, 
And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
It calmly repeats those words of awe, — 
" For ever — ne\ < r ! 
Never — for ever !" 

In that mansion used to be 

Free-hearted Hospitality; 
His great fires up the chimney roared ; 
The stranger feasted at his board ; 
But, like the skeleton at the feast, 
That warning timepiece never ceased, — 
" For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever !" 

There groups of merry children played, 
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed j 
O precious hours ! O golden prime, 
An affluence of love and time! 
Even as a miser counts his gold, 
Those hours the ancient timepiece told, — 
" For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever !" 



92 SONGS. 

From that chamber, clothed in white, 
The bride came forth on her wedding night ; 
There, in that silent room below, 
The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 
And in the hush that followed the prayer, 
Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 
" For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever!" 

All are scattered now and fled, 
Some are married, some are dead ; 
And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
" Ah ! when shall they all meet again ?" 
As in the days long since gone by, 
The ancient timepiece makes reply, — 
" For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever !" 

Never here, for ever there, 
Where all parting, pain and care, 
And death, and time shall disappear,— 
For ever there, but never here ! 
The horologe of Eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly, — 
" For ever — never ! 
Never — for ever !" 




SONNETS. 



AUTUMN. 

Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, 
With banners, by great gales incessant fanned, 
Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand, 
And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain ! 
Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne,* 
Upon thy bridge of gold ; thy royal hand 
Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land, 
Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain. 
Thy shield is the red harvest moon suspended 
So long beneath the heaven's o'erhanging eaves; 
Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers attended ; 
Like names upon an altar shine the sheaves; 
And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid, 
Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves! 



DANTE. 

Tuscan, that wanderest through the realms of gloom, 

With thoughtful pace, and sad majestic eyes, 

Stern thoughts and awful from thy soul arise, 

Like Farinata from his fiery tomb. 

Thy sacred song is like the trump of doom ; 

Yet in thy heart what human sympathies, 

What soft compassion glows, as in the skies 

The tender stars their clouded lamps relume! 

Methinks I see thee stand, with pallid cheeks, 

By Fra Hilario in his diocese, 

* Charlemagne may be called by pre-eminence the monarch of farmers. According 
to the German tradition, in seasons of great abundance his spirit crosses the Rhine on 
i golden bridge at Bingen, and blesses the cornfields and the vineyards. 



SONNETS. 

As up the convent-walls, in golden streaks, 
The ascending sunbeams mark the day's decrease 5 
And, as he asks what there the stranger seeks, 
Thy voice along the cloisters whispers, " Peace !" 



THE EVENING STAR. 

Lo ! in the painted oriel of the West, 

Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines, 

Like a fair lady at her casement shines 

The Evening Star, the star of love and rest! 

And then anon she doth herself divest 

Of all her radiant garments, and reclines 

Behind the sombre screen of yonder pines, 

With slumber and soft dreams of love oppressed. 

O my beloved, my sweet Hesperus ! 

My morning and my evening star of love ! 

My best and gentlest lady ! even thus, 

As that fair planet in the sky above, 

Dost thou retire unto thy rest at night, 

And from thy darkened window fades the light. 



TO-MORROW. 

'Tis late at night, and in the realm of sleep 
My little lambs are folded like the flocks ; 
From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks 
Challenge the passing hour, like guards that keep 
Their solitary watch on tower and steep ; 
Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks, 
And through the opening door that time unlocks 
Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep. 
To-morrow ! the mysterious, unknown guest, 
Who cries to me : " Remember Barmecide, 
And tremble to be happy with the rest." 
And I make answer : " I am satisfied ; 
I dare not ask ; I know not what is best ; 
God hath already said what shall betide/' 



GIOTTO'S TOWER. 



GIOTTO'S TOWER. 

How many lives, made beautiful and sweet 
By self-devotion and by self-restraint, — 
Whose pleasure is to run without complaint 
On unknown errands of the Paraclete, — 

Wanting the reverence of unshodden feet, 
Fail of the nimbus which the artists paint 
Around the shining iorehead of the saint, 
And are in their completeness incomplete. 

In the old Tuscan town stands Giotto's tower, 
The lily of Florence blossoming in stone, — 
A vision, a delight, and a desire, — 

The builder's perfect and centennial flower, 
That in the night of ages bloomed alone, 
But wanting still the glory of the spire. 



95 



THE SPANISH STUDENT, 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

Victorian) Students of Alcald. 

Hypo li to ) J 

The Count of Lara ) ,-, ., /» .-• , . . 

JL „ :-.... Gentlemen of Madrid. 

Don Carlos \ J 

The Archbishop of Toledo. 

A Cardinal. 

Beltran Cruzado Count of the Gipsies. 

Bartolome Roman A young Gipsy. 

The Padre Cura of Guadarrama. 

Pedro Cresfo Alcalde. 

Pancho Alguacil. 

Francisco Lara's Servant. 

Chispa Victorian's Servant. 

Baltasar . . . . Innkeeper. 

Preciosa A Gipsy Girl. 

Angelica A poor Girl. 

Martina The Padre Cura's Niece. 

Dolores Preciosa's Maid. 

Gipsies, Musicians, &c. 



ACT I. 



Scsnz I. — The Count of Lara's Chambers. Night. The Count in his dressin 
gown, smoking and conversing tcith Don Carlos. 

Lara. You were not at the play to-night, Don Carlos ; 
How happened it ? 

Carlos. I had engagements elsewhere. 

Pray who was there ? 

Lara. Why, all the town and court. 

The house was crowded ; and the busy fans 
Among the gaily dressed and perfumed ladies 
Fluttered like butterflies among the flowers. 
There was the Countess of Medina Celi ; 
The Goblin Lady with her Phantom Lover, 
Her Lindo Don Diego ; Dona Sol, 
And Dona Serafma, and her cousins. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 97 

Carlos. What was the play ? 

Lara. It was a dull affair 5 

One of those comedies in which you see, 
As Lope says, the history of the world 
Brought down from Genesis to the Day of Judgment. 
There were three duels fought in the first act, 
Three gentlemen receiving deadly wounds, 
Laying their hands upon their hearts, and saying, 
" O, I am dead !" a lover in a closet, 
An old hidalgo, and a gay Don Juan, 
A Doria Inez with a black mantilla, 
Followed at twilight by an unknown lover, 
Who looks intently where he knows she is not ! 

Carlos. Of course, the Preciosa danced to-night ? 

Lara. And never better. Every footstep fell 
As lightly as a sunbeam on the water. 
I think the girl extremely beautiful. 

Carlos. Almost beyond the privilege of woman ! 
I saw her in the Prado yesterday. 
Her step was royal — queen-like — and her face 
As beautiful as a saint's in Paradise. 

Lara. May not a saint fall from her Paradise, 
And be no more a saint ? 

Carlos. Why do you ask ? 

Lara. Because I have heard it said this angel fell, 
And, though she is a virgin outwardly, 
Within she is a sinner ; like those panels 
Of doors and altar-pieces the old monks 
Painted in convents, with the Virgin Mary 
On the outside, and on the inside Venus ! 

Carlos. You do her wrong ; indeed, you do her wrong ! 
She is as virtuous as she is fair. 

Lara. How credulous you are ! Why, look you, friend, 
There's not a virtuous woman in Madrid, 
In this whole city ! And would you persuade me 
That a mere dancing-girl, who shows herself 
Nightly, half-naked, on the stage, for money, 
And with voluptuous motions fires the blood 
Of inconsiderate youth, is to be held 
A model for her virtue ? 

Carlos. You forget 

She is a Gipsy girl. 

Lara. And therefore won 

The easier. 



98 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Carlos. Nay, not to be won at all ! 

The only virtue that a Gipsy prizes 
Is chastity. This is her only virtue. 
Dearer than life she holds it. I remember 
A Gipsy woman, a vile, shameless bawd, 
Whose craft was to betray the young and fair j 
And yet this woman was above all bribes. 
And when a noble lord, touched by her beauty, 
The wild and wizard beauty of her race, 
Offered her gold to be what she made others, 
She turned upon him, with a look of scorn, 
And smote him in the face ! 

Lara. And does that prove 

That Preciosa is above suspicion ? 

Carlos. It proves a nobleman may be repulsed 
When he thinks conquest easy. I believe 
That woman, in hei deepest degradation, 
Holds something sacred, something undefiled, 
Some pledge and keepsake of her higher nature, 
And, like the diamond in the dark,, retains 
Some quenchless gleam of the celestial light ! 

Lara. Yet Preciosa would have taken the gold. 

Carlos [rising"]. I do not think so. 

Lara. I am sure of it. 

But why this haste ! Stay yet a little longer, 
And fight the battles of your Dulcinea. 

Carlos. 'Tis late. I must begone, for if I stay 
You will not be persuaded. 

Lara. Yes • persuade me. 

Carlos* No one so deaf as he who will not hear. 

Lara. No one so blind as he who will not see ! 

Carlos. And so good night. I wish you pleasant dreams, 
And greater faith in woman. [Exit 

Lara. Greater faith ! 

I have the greatest faith -, for I believe. 
Victorian is her lover, I believe 
That I shall be to-morrow ■ and thereafter 
Another, and another, and another, 
Chasing each other through her zodiac, 
As Taurus chases Aries. 

[Enter Francisco with a casket.] 
Well, Francisco, 
What speed with Preciosa i 



THE SPANISH STUDEXT. 99 

Fran. None, my lord. 

She sends your jewels back, and bids me tell you 
She is not to be purchased by your gold. 

Lara. Then I will try some other way to win her. 
Pray, dost thou know Victorian ? 

Fran. Yes, my lord, 

I saw him at the jeweller's to-day. 

Lara. What was he doing there ? 

Fran. I saw him buy 

A golden ring, that had a ruby in it. 

Lara. Was there another like it ? 

Fran, One so like it 

I could not choose between them. 

Lara. It is well. 

M o-morrow morning bring that ring to roe, 
Do not forget. Now light me to my bed. [Eal'uu(. 

Scene II. — A street in M> Chispa, followed hy musicians, with a 

I at lay instruments. 

\ Chis. Abermmcio Satanas ! and a plague on all lovers who nimble 
about at night, drinking the elements, instead of sleeping quietly in 
their beds. Every dead man to his cemetery, say 1 ; and every friar 
to his monastery. Now, here's my master, Victorian, yesterday a cow- 
keeper, and to-day a gentleman ; yesterday a student, and to-day a 
lover- and I must be up later than the nightingale, for as the abbot 
siiv^s so must the sacristan respond. God grant he may soon be 
married, for then shall all this serenading cease. Ay, marry ! marry ! 
marry! Mother, what does marry mean? It means to spin, to bear 
children, and to weep, my daughter! And, of a truth, there is some- 
thing more in matrimony than the wedding-ring. [7b the musicians.'] 
And now, gentlemen, Pax vobiscum ! as the ass said to the cabbages. 
Pray, walk this way; and don't hang down your heads. It is no dis- 
grace to have an old father and a ragged shirt. Now, look you, you 
Jare gentlemen who lead the life of crickets; you enjoy hunger by 
[day and noise by night. Yet, I beseech you, for this once be not 
loud, but pathetic ; for it is a serenade to a damsel in bed, and not to 
the Man in the Moon. Your object is not to arouse and terrify, but 
to soothe and bring lulling dreams. Therefore, each shall not play 
iupon his instrument as if it were the only one in the universe, but 
aptly, and with a certain modesty, according with the others. Pray, 
how may I call thy name, friend ? 

First Mas. Geronimo Gil, at your sen 

Chis. Every tub smells of the wine that is in it. Pray, Geronimo, 
is not Saturday an unpleasant day with thee? 



ico THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

First Mus. Why so ? 

Chis. Because I have heard it said that Saturday is an unpleasan 
day with those who have but one shirt. Moreover, I have seen the 
at the tavern, and if thou canst run as fast as thou canst drink, I shouh 
like to hunt hares with thee. What instrument is that ? 

First Mus. An Aragonese bagpipe. 

Chis. Pray, art thou related to the bagpiper of Bujalance, who askec 
a maravedi for playing, and ten for leaving off? 

First Mus. No, your honour. 

Chis. I am glad of it. What other instruments have we ? 

Second and Third Mus. We play the bandurria. 

Chis. A pleasing instrument. And thou ? 

Fourth Mus. The fife. 

Chis. I like it j it has a cheerful, soul-stirring sound, that soars U] 
to my lady's window like the song of a swallow. And you others ? 

Other Mus. We are the singers, please your honour. 

Chis. You are too many. Do you think we are going to sing mas 
in the cathedral of Cordova ? Four men can make but little use of on 
shoe, and I see not how you can all sing in one song. But follow m 
along the garden wall. That is the way my master climbs to th 
lady's window. It is by the Vicar's skirts that the devil climbs int< 
the belfry. Come, follow me, and make no noise. [Exeunt 

Scene III. — Preciosa's Chamber. She stands at the open window. 

Pre. How slowly through the lilac-scented air 
Descends the tranquil moon ! Like thistle-down 
The vapoury clouds float in the peaceful sky 
And sweetly from yon hollow vaults of shade 
The nightingales breathe out their souls in song. 
And hark ! what songs of love, what soul-like sounds, 
Answer them from below ! 

SERENADE. 

Stars of the summer night ! Wind of the summer night 

Far in yon azure deeps, Where yonder woodbine creeps, 

Hide, hide your golden light ! Fold, fold thy pinions light ! 
She sleeps ! She sleeps ! 

My lady sleeps ! My lady sleeps ! 
Sleeps ! Sleeps ! 

Moon of the summer night ! Dreams of the summer night ! 

Far down yon western steeps, Tell her, her lover keeps 

Sink, sink in silver light ! Watch ! while in slumbers light 

She sleeps ! She sleeps ! 

My lady sleeps ! My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps! ' Sleeps! 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. I 

[Enter Victorian by the balcony.'] 

Vict. Poor little dove ! Thou tremblest like a leaf ! 

Pre. I am so frightened ! 'Tis for thee I tremble ! 
I hate to have thee climb that wall by night ! 
Did no one see thee ? 

Vict. None, my love, but thou. 

Pre. 'Tis very dangerous ; and when thou art gone 
I chide myself for letting thee come here 
Thus stealthily by night. Where hast thou been ? 
Since yesterday I have no news from thee. 

Vict. Since yesterday I've been in Al 
Ere long the time will i 

When that dull distance shall no more divide us, 
And I no more shall scale thj night 

To Bteal a kiss from thee, as 1 do now. 

Pre. An honest thief to steal but what thou gn 

Vict. And we .shall sit together unmolested, 
And words of true love pass from tongue to tongue, 
As singing birds from one bough to another. 

Pre. That were a life indeed t>> make time envious! 
I knew that thou wouldst visit me to-night. 
I saw thee at the play. 

Vict. Sweet child of air ! 

Never did I behold thee so attired 
And garmented in beauty as to-night ! 
What hast thou done to make thee look so fair ? 

Pre. Am I not always fair? 

Vict. Ay, and so fair 

That I am jealous of all eyes that see r 
And wish that they were blind. 

Pre. I heed them not ; 

When thou art present, I see none but th e ! 

Vict. There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes 
Something from thee, that makes it beautiful. 

Pre. And yet thou leavest me for those dusty books. 

Vict. Thou comest between me and those books too often ! 
I see thy face in everything I see ! 
The paintings in the chapel wear thy looks, 
The canticles are changed to sarabands, 
And with the learned doctors of the schools 
I see thee dance cachu< 

Pre. In crood sooth, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 
I dance with learned doctors of the schools 
To-morrow morning. 

Vict. And with whom, I pray ? 

Pre. A grave and reverend Cardinal., and his Grace 
The Archbishop of Toledo. 

Vict. What mad jest 

Is this ? 

Pre. It is no jest; indeed it is not. 

Vict. Prithee, explain thyself. 

Pre. Why, simply thus 

Thou knowest the Pope has sent here into Spain 
To put a stop to dances on the stage. 

Vict. I have heard it whispered. 

Pre. Now the Cardinal 

Who for this purpose comes, would fain behold 
Witli his own eyes these dances - } and the Archbishop 
Has sent for me 

Vict. That thou may'st dance before them ! 

Now viva la cachucha ! It will breathe 
The fire of youth into these gray old men ! 
'Twill be thy proudest conquest ! 

Pre. Saving one. 

And yet I fear these dances will be stopped 
And Preciosa be once more a beggar. 

Vict. The sweetest beggar that e'er asked for alms; 
With such beseeching eyes, that when I saw thee 
I gave my heart away ! 

Pre. Dost thou remember 

When first we met ? 

Vict. It was at Cordova, 

In the cathedral garden. Thou wast sitting 
Under the orange trees, beside a fountain. 

Pre. 'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full blossomed trees 
Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy. 
The priests were singing, and the organ sounded, 
And then anon the great cathedral bell. 
It was the elevation of the Host. 
We both of us fell down upon our knees, 
Under the orange boughs, and prayed together. 
I never had been happy till that moment. 

Vict. Thou blessed angel ! 

Pre. And when thou wast gone 

I felt an aching here. I did not speak 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 103 

To any one that day. But from that day 
Bartolome grew hateful unto me. 

Vict. Remember him no more. Let not his shadow 
Come between thee and me. Sweet Preciosa ! 
I loved thee even then, though I was silent ! 

Pre. I thought I ne'er should see thy face again. 
Thy farewell had a sound of sorrow in it. 

Vict. That was the first sound in the song of love ! 
Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound. 
Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings 
Of that mysterious instrument, the soul, 
And play the prelude of our fate. We hear 
The voice prophetic, and are not alone. 

Pre. That is my faith. Dost thou believe these warnings ? 

Vict. So far as this. Our feelings and our thoughts 
Tend ever on, and rest not in the Present. 
As drops of rain fall into some dark well, 
And from below conies a scarce audible sound, 
So fall our thoughts into the dark Hereafter, 
And their mysterious echo reaches Us. 

Pre. I have felt it so, but found no words to say it ! 
I cannot reason ; I can only feel ! 
But thou hast language for all thoughts and feelings. 
Thou art a scholar; and sometimes I think 
We cannot walk together in this world ! 
The distance that divides us is too great ! 
Henceforth thy pathway lies among the stars; 
I must not hold thee back. 

Vict. Thou little sceptic ! 

Dost thou still doubt ? What I most prize in woman 
Is her affections, not her intellect ! 
The intellect is finite ; but the affections 
Are infinite, and cannot be exhausted. 
Compare me with the great men of the earth ; 
What am I ? Why a pigmy among giants ! 
But if thou lovest, — mark me ! I say lovest, 
The greatest of thy sex excels thee not ! 
The world of the affections is thy world, 
Not that of man's ambition. In that stillness 
Which most becomes a woman, calm and holy, 
Thou sittest by the fireside of the heart, 
Feeding its flame. The element of lire 
Is pure. It cannot change nor hide its nature, 



104 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

But burns as brightly in a Gipsy camp 
As in a palace hall. Art thou convinced ? 

Pre. Yes, that I love thee, as the good love heavei 
But not that I am worthy of that heaven. 
How shall I more deserve it ? 

Vict. Loving more. 

Pre. I cannot love thee more j my heart is full. 

Vict. Then let it overflow, and I will drink it, 
As in the summer time the thirsty sands 
Drink the swift waters of the Manzanares, 
And still do thirst for more. 

A Watchman, [in the street.'] Ave Maria 
Purissima ! 'Tis midnight and serene ! 

Vict. Hear'st thou that cry ? 

Pre. It is a hateful sound, 

To scare thee from me ! 

Vict. As the hunter's horn 

Doth scare the timid stag, or bark of hounds 
The moor-fowl from his mate. 

Pre. Pray, do not go ! 

Vict. I must away to Alcala to-night. 
Think of me when I am away. 

Pre. Fear not ! 

I have no thoughts that do not think of thee. 

Vict, [giving her a ring.'] And to remind thee of my love* take 
this ; 
A serpent, emblem of Eternity ; 
A ruby, — say, a drop of my heart's blood. 

Pre. It is an ancient saying, that the ruby 
Brings gladness to the wearer, and preserves 
The heart pure, and, if laid beneath the pillow, 
Drives away evil dreams. But then, alas ! 
It was a serpent tempted Eve to sin. 

Vict. What convent of barefooted Carmelites 
Taught thee so much theology ? 

Pre. [laying her hand upon his mouth.'] Plush ! Hush ! 
Good night ! and may all holy angels guard thee ! 

Vict. Good night ! good night ! Thou art my guardian angel .' 
I have no other saint than thou to pray to ! 

[He descends 1y the balcony.] 

Pre. Take care, and do not hurt thee. Art thou safe ? 
Vict, [from the garden.] Safe as my love for thee ! But £.rt 
thou safe ? 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. , c f 

Others can climb a balcony by moonlight 
As well as I. Pray shut thy window close • 
1 am jealous of the perfumed air of night 
That from this garden climbs to kiss thy lips. 

Pre. [throwing down her handkerchief.'] Thou silly child: take 
this to bind thine eyes. 
It is my benison ! 

Vict. And brings to 

Sweet fragrance from thy lips, as the soft wind 
Wafts to the out-bound mariner the breath 
Of the beloved land he leaves behind. 

Pre. Make not thy voyage long. 

Vict. To-morrow night 

Shall see me saf returned. Thou art the star 
To guide me to an anchorage. Good night ! 
My beauteous star ! My star of love, good night ! 

Pre. Good night ! 

Watchman, [at a distance.] Ave Maria Purissima ! 

Scene IV. — An inn on the road to Alcald. Baltasar asleep on a lench. 
Enter Cimspa. 

Chis. And here we are, half-way to Alcala, between cocks and 
midnight. Body o' me ! what an inn this is ! The lights out, and 
the landlord asleep. Hola ! ancient Baltasar ! 

Bait. [waking.] Here I am. 

Chis. Yes, there you are, like a one-eyed Alcalde in a town without 
inhabitants. Bring a light, and let me have supper. 

Bait. Where is your master ? 

Chis. Do not trouble yourself about him. We have stopped a 
moment to breathe our horses ; and, if he chooses to walk up and 
down in the open air, looking into the sky as one who hears it rain, 
that does not satisfy my hunger, you know. But be quick, for I am 
in a hurry, and every man stretches his legs according to the length of 
his coverlet. What have we here ? 

Bait. [Setting a light on the table.'] Stewed rabbit. 

Chis. [Eating.~\ Conscience of Portalegre ! Stewed kitten, you mean ! 

Bait. And a pitcher of Pedro Ximenes, with a roasted pear in it. 

Chis. [Drinking.~\ Ancient Baltasar, amigo ! You know how to 
cry wine and sell vinegar. I tell you this is nothing but Vino Tinto 
of La Mancha, with a tang of the swine-skin. 

Bait. 1 swear to you by Saint Simon and Judas, it is all as I say. 

Chis. And I swear to you by Saint Peter and Saint Paul, that it is no 
such thing. Moreover, your supper is like the hidalgo's dinner, very 
little meat, and a great deal of table-cloth. 



106 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Bait. Ha! ha! ha! 

Chis. And more noise than nuts. 

Bait. Ha ! ha ! ha ! You must have your joke, Master Chispa. 
But shall I not ask Don Victorian in, to take a draught of the Pedro 
Ximenes ? 

Chis. No 5 you might as well say, " Don't-you-want-some ?" to a 
dead man. 

Bait. Why does he go so often to Madrid ? 

Chis. For the same reason that he eats no supper. He is in love. 
Were you ever in love, Baltasar? 

Bait. I was never out of it, good Chispa. It has been the torment 
of my life. 

Chis. What ! are you on nre, too, old haystack r Why, we shall 
never be able to put you out. 

Vict. [Without. .] Chispa! 

Chis. Go to bed, Pero Grullo, for the cocks are crowing. 

Vict. Ea! Chispa! Chispa! 

Chis. Ea ! Seiior. Come with me, ancient Baltasar, and bring 
water for the horses. I will pay for the supper, to-morrow. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. — Victorian's chambers at Alcald. Hypolito asleep in an arm-chair. 
He awakes sloicly. 

Hyp. I must have been asleep ! ay, sound asleep ! 
And it was all a dream. O sleep, sweet sleep ! 
Whatever form thou takest, thou art fair, 
Holding unto our lips thy goblet filled 
Oat of Oblivion's well, a healing draught ! 
The candles have burned low • it must be late. 
Where can Victorian be ? Like Fray Carillo, 
The only place in which one cannot find him 
Is his own cell. Here's his guitar, that seldom 
Feels the caresses of its master's hand. 
Open thy silent lips, sweet instrument ! 
And make dull midnight merry with a song. 

[He plays and sings.] 

Padre Francisco ! 
Padre Francisco ! 
What do you want of Padre Francisco 
Here is a pretty young maiden 
Who wants to confess her sins. 
Open the door and let her come in, 
I will shrive her from every sin. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 107 

[Enter Victorian.] 

Vict. Padre Hypolito ! Padre Hypolito ! 

Hyp. What do you want of Padre Hypolito : 

Vict. Come, shrive me straight ; for, if love be a sin, 
I am the greatest sinner that doth live. 
I will confess the sweetest of all crimes, 
A maiden wooed and won. 

Hyp. The same old tale 

Of the old woman in the chimney corner, 
Who, while the pot boil.-;, says, " Come here,, my child j 
I'll tell thee a story of my wedding-day." 

Vict. Nay, listen, for nay heart is full 5 so full 
That I must speak. 

Hyp. Alas ! that heart of thine 

Is like a scene in the old play ; the curtain 
Rises to solemn music, and lo ! enter 
The eleven thousand virgins of Cologne ! 

Vict. Nay, like the Sibyl's volumes, thou shouldst 
Those that remained, after the six were burned, 
Being held more precious than the nine together. 
But listen to my tale. Dost thou remember 
The Gipsy girl we saw at Cordova 
Dance the Romalis in the market-place? 

Hyp. Thou meanest Pre< 

Vict. Ay, the same. 

Thou knowest how- her image haunted me 
Long alter we returned to Aleala. 
She's in Madrid. 

Hyp, know it. 

/ let. And I'm in love. 

Hyp. And therefore in Madrid when thou shouldst be 
In Aleala. 

Vict. O pardon me, my friend, 

If I so long have kept this secret from thee ; 
But silence is the charm that guards such treasures, 
And, if a word be spoken ere the time, 
They sink again, they were not meant for us. 

Hyp. Alas ! alas ! I see thou art in love. 
Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak. 
It serves for food and raiment. Give a Spaniard 
His mass, his olla, and his Dona Luisa, — 
Thou knowest the proverb. But pray tell me, lover, 
How speeds thy wooing? Is the maiden coy? 



10S THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Write her a song, beginning with an Ave; 
Sing as the monk sang to the Virgin Mary, 

Ave ! cujus calcem dare, 

Nee centenni commendare 

Sciret Seraph studio ! 

Vict. Pray, do not jest ! This is no time for it. 
I am in earnest ! 

Hyp. Seriously enamoured ? 

What, ho ! The Primus of great Alcala 
Enamoured of a Gipsy ? Tell me frankly, 
How meanest thou ? 

Vict. I mean it honestly. 

Hyp. Surely thou wilt not marry her ! 

Vict. Why not ? 

Hyp. She was betrothed to one Bartolome, 
If I remember rightly, a young Gipsy 
Who danced with her at Cordova. 

Vict. They quarrelled, 

And so the matter ended. 

Hyp. But in truth 

Thou wilt not marry her? 

Vict. In truth I will. 

The angels sang in heaven when she was born ! 
She is a precious jewel I have found 
Among the filth and rubbish of the world. 
I'll stoop for it ; but when I wear it here, 
Set on my forehead like the morning star, 
The world may wonder, but it will not laugh. 

Hyp. If thou wear'st nothing else upon thy forehead, 
'Twill be indeed a wonder. 

Vict. Out upon thee, 

With thy unseasonable jests ! Pray, tell me, 
Is there no virtue in the world ? 

Hyp. Not much. 

What, think'st thou, is she doing at this moment j 
Now, while we speak of her ? 

Vict. She lies asleep, 

And, from her parted lips, her gentle breath 
Comes like the fragrance from the lips of flowers. 
Her tender limbs are still, and, on her breast, 
The cross she prayed to, ere she fell asleep, 
Rises and falls with the soft tide of dreams, 
Like a light barge safe moored. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. icg 

Hyp. "Which means, in prose, 

She's sleeping with her mouth a little open ! 

Vict. O, would I had the old magician's glass 
To see her as she lies in childlike sleep ! 

Hyp. And wouldst thou venture ? 

Vict. Ay, indeed I would ! 

Hyp. Thou art courageous. Hast thou e'er reflected 
How much lies hidden in that one word, now ? 

Vict. Yes, all the awful mystery of Life ! 
I oft have thought, my dear Hypolito, 
That could we, by some spell of magic, change 
The world and its inhabitants to stone, 
In the same attitudes they now are in, 
What fearful glances downward might we cast 
Into the hollow chasms of human life ! 
What groups should we behold about the death-bed, 
Putting to shame the group of Niobe ! 
What joyful welcomes, and what sad farewells ! 
What stony tears in those congealed eyes ! 
What visible joy or anguish in those checks . 
What bridal pomps, and what funereal shows ! 
What foes, like gladiators, fierce and struggling ! 
What lovers with their marble lips together ! 

Hyp. Ay, there it is ! and, if I were in love, 
That is the very point I most should dread. 
This magic glass, these magic spells of thine, 
Might tell a tale were better left untold. 
For instance, they might show us thy fair cousin, 
The Lady Violante, bathed in tears 
Of love and anger, like the maid of Colchis, 
Whom thou, another faithless Argonaut, 
Having won that golden fleece, a woman's love 
Desertest for this Glauce. 

Vict. Hold thy peace ! 

She cares not for me. She may wed anotl 
Or go into a convent, and, thus dying, 
Marry Achilles in the Elysian Fields. 

Hyp. [Rising.~\ And so, good night ! Good morning, I should say. 

[Clock strikes three.'] 

Hark ! how the loud and ponderous mace of Time 

Knocks at the golden portals of the day ! 

And so, once more, good night ! We'll speak more largely 

Of Preciosa when we meet again. 

Get thee tc bed, and the magician, Sleep, 



5 THE SPANISH STUDENi. 

Shall show her to thee, in his magic glass, 
In all her loveliness. Goodnight! " [Exit. 

Vict. Good night ! 

But not to bed; for I must read awhile. 

[Throws himself into the arm-chair which Hypolito has left, and lays 
a large look open upon his knees.'] 

Must read, or sit in reverie and watch 

The changing colour of the waves that break 

Upon the idle sea-shore of the mind ! 

Visions of Fame ! that once did visit me, 

Making night glorious with your smile, where are ye ? 

O, who shall give me, now that ye are gone, 

Juices of those immortal plants that bloom 

Upon Olympus, making us immortal ? 

Or teach me where that wondrous mandrake grows 

Whose magic root, torn from the earth with groans, 

At midnight hour, can scare the fiends away, 

And make the mind prolific in its fancies ? 

I have the wish, but Want the will, to act ! 

Souls of great men departed ! Ye whose words 

Have come to light from the swift river of Time, 

Like Roman swords found in the Tagus' bed, 

Where is the strength to wield the arms ye bore? 

From the barred visor of Antiquity 

Reflected shines the eternal light of Truth, 

As from a mirror ! All the means of action — 

The shapeless masses — the materials — 

Lie everywhere about us. What we need 

Is the celestial fire to change the flint 

Into transparent crystal, bright and clear. 

That fire is genius ! The rude peasant sits 

At evening in his smoky cot, and draws 

With charcoal uncouth figures on the wall. 

The son of genius comes, foot-sore with travel, 

And begs a shelter from the inclement night. 

He takes the charcoal from the peasant's hand, 

And, by the magic of his touch at once 

Transfigured, all its hidden virtues shine, 

And, in the eyes of the astonished clown, 

It gleams a diamond ! Even thus transformed, 

Rude popular traditions and old tales 

Shine as immortal poems, at the touch 

Of some poor, houseless, homeless, wandering bard, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 
Who had but a night's lodgings for his pains. 
But there are brighter dreams than those of Fame, 
Which are the dreams of Love ! Out of the heart 
Rises the bright ideal of these dreams, 
As from some woodland fount a spirit rises 
And sinks again into its silent deeps, 
Ere the enamoured knight can touch her robe ! 
'Tis this ideal that the soul of man, 
Like the enamoured knight beside the fountain, 
Waits for upon the margin of Life's stream ; 
Waits to behold her rise from the dark waters, 
Clad in a mortal shape ! Alas ! how many 
Must wait in vain ! The stream flows evermore, 
But from its silent deeps no spirit rises ! 
Yet I, born under a propitious star, 
Have found the bright ideal of my dreams. 
Yes ! she is ever with me. I can feel, 
Here, as I sit at midnight and alone, 
Her gentle breathing ! on my breast can feel 
The pressure of her head ! God's benison 
Rest ever on it ! Close those beauteous 
Sweet Sleep ! and all the flowers that bloom at night 
With balmy lips breathe in her ears my name ! 

[Gradually sinks asleep."] 

ACT II. 

Scene I. — Preciosa's Chamber. Morning. Pueciosa <-; 

Pre. Why will you go so soon ? Stay yet awhile. 
The poor too often turn away unheard 
From hearts that shut against them with a sound 
That will be heard in Heaven. Pray, tell me more 
Of your adversities. Keep nothing from me. 
What is your landlord's name ? 

Ang. The Count of Lara. 

Pre. The Count of Lara ? O, beware that man ' 
Mistrust his pity, — hold no parley with him ! 
And rather die an outcast in the streets 
Than touch his gold. 

ylng. You know him, then ! 

Pre. \s much 

As any woman may, and yet be pure. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

As you would keep your name without a blemish, 
Beware of him ! 

Ang. Alas ! what can I do ? 

I cannot choose my friends. Each word of kindness. 
Come whence it may, is welcome to the poor. 

Pre. Make me your friend. A girl so young and fair 
Should have no friends but those of her own sex. 
What is your name ? 

Ang. Angelic^. 

Pre. That name 

Was given you, that you might be an angel 
To her who bore you ! When your infant smile 
Made her home Paradise, you were her angel. 
O, be an angel still ! She needs that smile. 
So long as you are innocent, fear nothing. 
No one can harm you ! I am a poor girl, 
Whom chance has taken from the public streets 
I have no other shield than mine own virtue, 
That is the charm which has protected me ! 
Amid a thousand perils, I have worn it 
Here cm my heart ! It is my guardian angel. 

Ang. [rising.'] I thank you for this counsel, dearest lady. 

Pre. Thank me by following it. 

Ang, Indeed I will. 

Pre. Pray, do not go. I have much more to say. 

Ang. My mother is alone. I dare not leave her. 

Pre. Some other time, then, when we meet again. 
You must not go away with words alone. 

[Gives her a purse.'] 

Take this. Would it were more. 

Ang. I thank you, lady. 

Pre. No thanks. To-morrow come to me again 
I dance to-night, — perhaps for the last time. 
But what I gain, I promise shall be yours, 
If that can save you from the Count of Lara. 

Ang. O, my dear lady 1 how shall I be grate 
For so much kindness ? 

Pre. I deserve no thanks. 

Thank Heaven, not me. 

Ang. Both Heaven and you. 

Pre, FarewelL 

Remember that you come again to-morrow. 

Ang. I will. And may the blessed Virgin guard you, 
And all good angels. [Exit. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Pre. May they guard thee, too, 

And all the poor ; for they have need of angels. 
Now bring me, dear Dolores, my Basquina, 
My richest maja dress, — my dancing dress, 
And my most precious jewels ! Make me look 
Fairer than night e'er saw me ! I've a prize 
To win this day, worthy of Preciosa ! 

[Enter Beltran Cruzado.} 

Cruz. Ave Maria ! 

Pre. O God ! my evil genius ! 

What seekest thou here to-day ? 

Cruz. Thyself, — my child 

Pre. What is thy will with me ? 

Cruz. Gold ! gold . 

Pre. I gave thee yesterday ; I have no more. 

Cruz. The gold of the Busne,* — give me his gold! 

Pre. I gave the last in charity to-day. 

Cruz. That is a foolish lie. 

Pre. It is the truth. 

Cruz. Curses upon thee ! Thou art not my child ! 
Hast thou given gold away, and not to me ! 
Not to thy father ? To whom, then ? 

Pre. To one 

Who needs it more. 

Cruz. No one can need it more. 

Pre. Thou art not poor. 

Cruz. What, I, who lurk about 

In dismal suburbs and unwholesome lanes ; 
I, who am housed worse than the galley slave, 
I, who am fed worse than the kennelled hound. 
I, who am clothed in rags, — Beltran Cruzado, — 
Not poor ! 

Pre. Thou hast a stout heart and strong hands. 
Thou canst supply thy wants ; what wouldst thou more ? 

Cruz. The gold of the Busne ! give me his gold ! 

Pre. Beltran Cruzado ! hear me once for all. 
I speak the truth. So long as I had gold, 
I gave it to thee freely, at all times, 
Never denied thee; never had a wish 
But to fulfil thine own. Now go in peace ! 
Be merciful, be patient, and, ere long, 
Thou shalt have more. 

* Busne is the name given by the gipsies to all who arc not of their race. 



114 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Cruz. A.nd if I have it not, 

Thou shalt no longer dwell here in rich chambers, 
Wear silken dresses, feed on dainty food, 
And live in idleness ; but go with me, 
Dance the Romalis in the public streets, 
And wander wild again o'er field and fell ; 
For here we stay not long. 

Pre. What ! march again ? 

Cruz. Ay, with all speed. I hate the crowded town ! 
I cannot breathe shut up within its gates ! 
Air, — I want air, and sunshine, and blue sky, 
The feeling of the breeze upon my face, 
The feeling of the turf beneath my feet, 
And no walls but the far-off mountain tops. 
Then I am free and strong, — once more myself, 
Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales !* 

Pre. God speed thee on thy march — I cannot go. 

Cruz. BLemember who I am, and who thou art. 
Be silent and obey ! Yet one thing more. 
Bartolome Roman 

Pre. [with emotion. ~] O, I beseech thee ! 
If my obedience and blameless life, 
If my humility and meek submission 
In all things hitherto, can move in thee 
One feeling of compassion ; if thou art 
Indeed my father, and canst trace in me 
One look of her who bore me, or one tone 
That doth remind thee of her, let it plead 
In my behalf, who am a feeble girl, 
Too feeble to resist, and do not force me 
To wed that man ! I am afraid of him ! 
I do not love him ! On my knees I beg thee 
To use no violence, nor do in haste 
What cannot be undone ! 

Cruz. O child, child, child ! 

Thou hast betrayed thy secret, as a bird 
Betrays her nest, by striving to conceal it. 
I will not leave thee here in the great city 
To be a grandee's mistress. Make thee ready 
To go with us j and until then remember 
A watchful eye is on thee. [Exit 

Pre. Woe is me ! 

* Cales, another word for gipsies. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 115 

I have a strange misgiving in my heart ! 

But that one deed ot charity I'll do, 

Befall what may 5 they cannot take that from me. 

[Exit. 

Scene II. — A room in the Archbishop's palace. The Archbishop and a 
Cardinal seated. 

Arch. Knowing how near it touched the public morals, 
And that our age is grown corrupt and rotten 
By such excesses, we have sent to Rome, 
Beseeching that his Holiness would aid 
In curing the gross surfeit of the time, 
By seasonable stop put here in Spain 
To bull-tights and lewd dances on the stage. 
All this you know. 

Card. Know and approve. 

Arch. And km her. 

That, by a mandate from his Holiness, 
The first have been suppressed. 

Card. I trust for ^ver j 

It was a cruel sport. 

Arch. A barbarous pastime, 

Disgraceful to the land that calls itself 
Most Catholic and Christian. 

Card. Yet the people 

Murmur at this 5 and, if the public daD 
Should be condemned upon too .slight occasion, 
Worse ills might follow than the ills we cure. 
As Partem et Circenses was the cry, 
Among the Roman populace of old, 
.So Pan y Toros is the cry in Spain. 
Hence 1 would act advisedly herein ; 
And therefore have induced your grace to see 
These national dances, ere we interdict them. 

[Enter a Servant.} 

Ser. The dancing-girl, and with her the musicians 
Your grace was pleased to order, wait without. 

Arch. Bid them come in. Now shall your eyes behold 
In what angelic yet voluptuous shape 
The Devil came to tempt Saint Anthony. 



u6 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

r Enter PRECIOSA, with a mantle thrown over her head. She advances sloicly, 
in a modes., nalUimid attitude.'] 

Card, [aside.-] O, what a fair and ministering angel 
•v<7 w»- tn H>q\en when this sweet woman tell. 

w j£ftoSS^ **«**-3 * have obe >' ed the order 

of your grace. 
If I intrude upon your better hours, 
I proffer this excuse, and here beseech 
Your holy benediction. '* 

j rcL V May God bless thee, 

\^A Ipid thee to a better life. Arise. 

A Cald [«£.] Her acts are modest, and her words d.scree, : 
I did not look for this ! Come hither, chud. 
Tsthy namePreciosa? 

p Thus I am called. 

£^. That is a Gipsy name. Who is thy father ? 

Pre Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales. 

Arch. I have a dim remembrance of that man. 
He was a bold and reckless character, 
A. sun-burnt Ishmael ! 

£ an/> Dost thou remember 

Thy earlier days ? , 

p re Yes; by the Darro s side 

My childhood passed. I can ^member still 
The river, and the mountains capped with snow, 
The villages, where, yet a little child, 
I told the traveller's fortune in the street ; 
The smuggler's horse, the brigand and the shepherd, 
The march across the moor; the halt at noon ; 
The red fire of the evening camp, that lighted 
The forest where we slept; and, farther back, 
As in a dream or in some former life, 
Gardens and palace walls. ^ ^ ^^ 

Under whose towers the Gipsy camp was pitched 
But the time wears; and we would see thee dance. 
Pre. Your grace shall be obeyed. . 

, l run The music of the cachuca is played, and the da 

[She lays aside her -mantilla The music '^ m ^ lty and 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. i j 7 

GENE III.— The Prado. A long avenue of trees leading to the gate of Atocha. On 
- the right the dome and spires of a convent. A fountain. Evening. Don Carlos 
and Hvpolito meeting. 

Carlos. Hola ! Good evening, Don Hypolito. 

Hyp. And a good evening to my friend, Don Carlos. 
Some lucky star has led my steps this way. 
I was in search of you. 

Carlos. Command me always. 

Hyp. Do you remember, in Quevedo's Dreams, 
The miser who, upon the Day of Judgment, 
Asks if his money-bags would rise ? 

Carlos. Ido 

But what of that ? 

HyP- I am that wretched man. 

Carlos. You mean to tell me yours have risen empty ? 

Hyp. And amen ! said my Cid Campeador.* 

Carlos. Pray, how much need you ? 

xiffiZ' ■ , , Some half-dozen ounces. 

Which, with due interest 

Carlos [giving his purse']. What, am I a Jew, 
To put my moneys out at usury ? 
Here is my purse. 

Hyp- Thank you. A pretty purse, 

Made by the hand of some fair Madnlefia; 
Perhaps a keepsake ? 

Carlos. Xo, 'tis at your service. 

Hyp. Thank you again. Lie there, good Chrysostom, 
And with thy golden mouth remind me often, 
I am the debtor of my friend. 

Carlos. Bllt ten mCf 

Come you to-day from Alcala ? 

~pP' This moment. 

Carlos. And pray, how fares the brave Victorian \ 
Hyp. Indifferent well; that is to say, not well. 
A damsel has ensnared him with the glances 
Of her dark, roving eyes, as herdsmen catch 
A steer of Andalusia with a lazo. 
He is in love. 

Carlos. And is it faring ill 

To be in Icve ? 

Hyp- In his case very ill. 

Carlos. Why so ? 

Hyp. For many reasons. First and foremost, 

■Because he is in love with an ideal 3 

* A line from the ancient Poema del Cid. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT, 
A creature of his own imagination 5 
A child of air ; an echo of his heart 5 
And, like a lily on a river floating, 
She floats upon the river of his thoughts ! 

Carlos. A common thing with poets. But who is 
This floating lily ? For, in fine, some woman, 
Some living woman — not a mere ideal — 
Must wear the outward semblance of his thought. 
Who is it ? Tell me. 

Hyp. Well, it is a woman 1 

But, look you, from the coffer of his heart 
He brings forth precious jewels to adorn her, 
As pious priests adorn some favourite saint 
With gems and gold, until at length she gleams 
One blaze of glory. Without these, you know, 
And the priest's benediction, 'tis a doll. 

Carlos. Well, well ! who is this doll ? 

Hyp. Why, who do you think? 

Carlos. His cousin Violante. 

Hyp. Guess again. 

To ease his labouring heart, in the last storm 
He threw her overboard, with all her ingots. ^ 

Carlos. I cannot guess • so tell me who it is. 

Hyp. Not I. 

Carlos. Why not ? 

Hyp. [mysteriously.] Why ? Because Mari Franca 
Was married four leagues out of Salamanca ! * 

Carlos. Jesting aside, who is it ? 

Hyp. Preciosa. 

Carlos. Impossible ? The Count of Lara tells me 
She is not virtuous. 

Hyp. Did I say she was ? 

The Roman Emperor Claudius had a wife 
Whose name was Messalina, as I think ; 
Valeria Messalina was her name. 
But hist ! I see him yonder through the trees, 
Walking as in a dream. 

Carlos. He comes this way. 

Hyp. It has been truly said by some wise man ; 
That money, grief, and love cannot be hidden. 



[Enter Victorian in front."] 
Vict. Where'er thy step has passed is holy ground ! 

* A common Spanish proverb, used to turn aside a question one does not wish, 
answer. 



THE SPANISH STUD EXT. ng 

These groves are sacred ! I behold thee walking 
Under these shadowy trees, where we have walked 
At evening, and I feel thy presence now j 
Feel that the place has taken a charm from thee, 
And is for ever hallowed. 

Hyp. Mark him well ! 

See how he strides away with lordly air, 
Like that odd guest of stone, that grim Commander 
Who comes to sup with Juan in the play. 

Carlos. What ho ! Victorian ! 

Hyp. Wilt thou sup with us ? 

Vict. Hold ! amigos ! Faith, I did not see you. 
How fares Don Carlos ? 

Carlos. At your service ever. 

Vict. How is that young and green-eyed Gaditana 
That you both wot of ? 

Carlos. Ay, soft, emerald eyes ! 

She has gone back to Cadiz. 

Hyp. Ay ih' mi ! 

Vict. You are much to blame for letting her go back. 
A pretty girl ; and in her tender cws 
Just that soft shade of green we sometimes sec 
In evening skies. 

Hyp. But, speaking of green eyes, 

Are thine green ? 

Vict. Not a whit. Why so ? 

Hyp, I think 

The slightest shade of green would be becoming, 
For thou art jealous. 

Vict. No, I am not jealous. 

Hyp. Thou shouldst be. 

Vict. Why ? 

Hyp. Because thou art in love, 

And they who are in love are always jealous. 
Therefore thou shouldst be. 

Vict. Marry, is that all ? 

Farewell; I am in haste. Farewell, Don Carlos. 
Thou sayest I should be jealous ? 

Hyp. Ay, in truth 

I fear there is reason. Be upon thy guard. 
I hear it whispered that the Count of Lara 
Lays siege to the same citadel. 

Vict. Indeed! 

Then he will have his labour for his pains. 



izo THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Hyp. He does not think so, and Don Carlos tells me 
He boasts of his success. 

Vict. How's this, Don Carlos ? 

Carlos. Some hints of it I heard from his own lips. 
He spoke but lightly of the lady's virtue, 
As a gay man might speak. 

Vict. Death and damnation 

I'll cut his lying tongue out of his mouth, 
And throw it to my dog ! But no, no, no ! 
This cannot be. You jest, indeed you jest. 
Trifle with me no more. For otherwise 
We are no longer friends. And so, farewell ! [Exit. 

Hyp. Now what a coil is here ! The Avenging Child 
Hunting the traitor Quadros to his death, 
And the great Moor Calaynos, when he rode 
To Paris for the ears of Oliver, 
Were nothing to him ! O hot-headed youth ! 
But come ; we will not follow. Let us join 
The crowd that pours into the Prado. There 
We shall find merrier company ; I see 
The Marialonzos and the Almavivas, 
And fifty fans, that beckon me already. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. — Preciosa's Chamber. She is sitting, with a book in her hand, near 
table, on which are flowers. A bird singing in its cage. The Count of Lar, 
enters behind unperceived. 

Pre. [Reads.'] 

All are sleeping, weary heart ! 
Thou, thou only sleepless art ! 

Heigho ! I wish Victorian were here. 

I know not what it is makes me so restless ! 

[The bird sings."] 
Thou little prisoner with thy motley coat, 
That from thy vaulted, wiry dungeon singesto 
Like thee I am a captive, and, like thee, 
I have a gentle gaoler. Lack-a-day ! 

All are sleeping, weary heart ! 
Thou, thou only sleepless art I 
All this throbbing', all this aching - , 
Evermore shall keep thee waking, 
For a heart in sorrow breaking 
Thinketh ever of its smart. 

Thou speakest truly, poet ! and methinks 
More hearts are breaking in this world of ours 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 121 

Than one would say. In distant villages 
And solitudes remote, where winds have wafted 
The barbed seeds of love, or birds of passage 
Scattered them in their flight, do they take root 
And grow in silence, and in silence perish. 
Who hears the falling of the forest leaf? 
Or who takes note of every flower that dies ? 
Heigho ! I wish Victorian would come. 
Dolores ! 

[Turns to lay down her iook, and perceives the Count.] 
Ha! 

Lara, Seiiora, pardon me ! 

Pre. How's this ? Dolores ! 

Lara. Pardon me 

Pre. Dolores'. 

Lara. Be not alarmed ; I found no one in waiting. 
If I have been too bold 

Pre. [turning her lack upon hint']. You are too bold! 
Retire ! retire, and leave me ! 

Lara. My dear lady, 

First hear me ! I beseech you, let me -peak . 
'Tis for your good I come. 

Pre. [turning toward him with indignation.'] Begone! Begone! 
You are the Count of Lara, but your deeds 
Would make the statues of your ancestors 
Blush on their tombs! Is it Castilian honour, 
Is it Castilian pride, to steal in here 
Upon a friendless girl, to do her wrong ? 

shame ! shame ! shame ! that you, a nobleman., 
Should be so little noble in your thoughts 

As to send jewels here to win my love, 

And think to buy my honour with your gold ! 

1 have no words to tell you how I scorn you ! 
Begone ! The sight of you is hateful to me ! 
Begone, I say ! 

Lara. Be calm ; I will not harm you. 

Pre. Because you dare not. 

Lara. I dare anything ! 

Therefore beware ! You are deceived in me. 
In this false world, we do not always know 
Who are our friends and who our enemies. 
We all have enemies, and all need friends. 
Even you, fair Preciosa, here at court 
Have ioes who seek to wrong you. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 
p re% If to this 

I owe the honour of the present visit, 
You might have spared the coming. Having spoken. 
Once more I beg you, leave me to myself. 

Lara. 1 thought it but a friendly part to tell you 
What strange reports are current here in town. 
For my own self, I do not credit them ; 
But there are many who, not knowing you, 
Will lend a readier ear. 

p re ^ There was no need 

That you should take upon yourself the duty 
Of telling me these tales. 

Lara, Malicious tongues 

Are ever busy with your name 

Pre t Alas ! 

I have no protectors. I am a poor girl, 
Exposed to insults and unfeeling jests. 
They wound me, yet I cannot shield myself, 
I give no cause for these reports, i live 
Retired, and visited by none. 

Lara. By none ? 

O, then, indeed, you are much wronged ! 

p m How mean you ? 

Lara. Nay, nay ; I will not wound your gentle soul 
By the report of idle tales. 

Pre. Speak out ! 

What are these idle tales ? You need not spare me. 
Lara. I will deal frankly with you. Pardon me 5 
This window, as I think, looks towards the street, 
And this into the Prado, does it not } 
In yon high house, beyond the garden wall,— 
You see the roof there just above the trees, — 
There lives a friend, who told me yesterday, 
That on a certain night, — be not offended 
If I too plainly speak, — he saw a man 
Climb to your chamber window. You are silent ! 

I would not blame you, being young and fair : 

[He tries to embrace her. She starts lack, and draws a dagger 
from her lvsom.~\ 

Pre. Beware ! beware ! I am a Gipsy girl ! 
Lay not your hand upon me. One step nearer 
And I will strike ! 

Lara. Pray you, put up that dagger. 

Fear not. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 123 

Pre. I do not fear. I have a heart 

In whose strength I can trust. 

Lara. Listen to me. 

I come here as your friend, — I am your friend, — 
And by a single word can put a stop 
To all those idle tales, and make your name 
Spotless as lilies are. Here on my knees, 
Fair Preciosa ! on my knees I swear 
I love you even to madness, and that love 
Has driven me to break the rules of custom, 
And force myself unasked into your presence. 

[Victorian enters behind."] 

Pre. Rise, Count of Lara ! This is not the place 
For such as you are. It becomes you not 
To kneel before me. I am strangely moved 
To see one of your rank thus low and humbled; 
For your sake I will put a^ide all anger, 
All unkind feeling, all dislike, and speak 
In gentleness, as most becomes a woman, 
And as my heart now prompts me. I no more 
Will hate you, for all hate i^ painful to me. 
But if, without offending modesty 
And that reserve which i^ a woman's glory, 
I may speak freely, I will teach my heart 
To love you. 

Lara. O sweet angel ! 

Pre. Ay, in truth, 

Far better than you love yourself or me. 

Lara. Give me some sign of this, — the slightest token. 
Let me but kiss your hand ! 

Pre. Nay, come no nearer. 

The words I utter are its sign and token. 
Misunderstand me not! Be not deceived ! 
The love wherewith I love you is not such 
As you would offer me. For you come here 
To take from me the only thing I have, 
My honour. You are wealthy, you have friends 
And kindred, and a thousand pleasant hopes 
That rill your heart with happiness ; but I 
Am poor and friendless, having but one treasure, 
And you would take that from me, and for what ? 
To flatter your own vanity, and make me 
What you would most despise. O sir, such love.. 
That seeks to harm me, cannot be true love, 



124 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Indeed it cannot. But my love for yon 
Is of a different kind. It seeks your good. 
It is a holier feeling. It rebukes 
Your earthly passion, your unchaste desires, 
And bids you look into your heart, and see 
How you do wrong that better nature in you, 
And grieve your soul with sin. 

Lara. I swear to you, 

I would not harm you ; I would only love you. 
I would not take your honour, but restore it, 
And in return I ask but some slight mark 
Of your affection. If indeed you love me, 
As you confess you do, O let me thus 
With this embrace 

Vict, [rushing forward.'] Hold ! hold ! This is too much. 
What means this outrage ? 

Lara. First, what right have ycu 

To question thus a nobleman ot Spain ? 

Vict. I too am noble, and you are no more ! 
Out of my sight ! 

Lara. Are you the master here ? 

Vict. Ay, here and elsewhere, when the wrong of others 
Gives me the right ! 

Pre. [to Lara.] Go ! I beseech you, go ! 

Vict. I shall have business with you, Count, anon ! 

Lara. You cannot come too soon ! [Exit. 

Pre. Victorian ! 

we have been betrayed ! 

Vict. Ha! ha! betrayed! 

'Tis I have been betrayed, not we ! — not we ! 

Pre. Dost thou imagine 

Vict. I imagine nothing 5 

1 see how 'tis thou wilest the time away 
When I am gone ! 

Pre. O speak not in that tone ! 

It wounds me deeply. 

Vict. 'Twas not meant to natter. 

Pre. Too well thou knowest the presence of that man 
Is hateful to me ! 

Vict. Yet I saw thee stand 

And listen to him, when he told his love. 

Pre. I did not heed his words. 

Vict. Indeed thou didst, 

And answeredst them with love. 



THE SPANISH STUDEXT. 

Pre. Hadst thou heard all- 

Vict, I heard enough. 

Pre. Be not so angry with me. 

Vict. I am not angry ; I am very calm. 

Pre. If thou wilt let me speak 

Vict. Nay, say no moie. 

I know too much already. Thou art false ! 
I do not like these Gipsy marriages ! 
Where is the ring I gave thee ? 

Pre. in my casket. 

Vict. There let it rc.^t ! I would not have tnee wear it; 
I thought thee spotless, and thou art polluted 

Pre. I call the Heavens to witness 

Vict. Nay, nay, nay ! 

Take not the name of Heaven upon thy Lips ! 
They are forsworn ! 

Pre. Vicl nan! dear Victorian ! 

lid. I gave up all for thee; myself, my fame, 
Ny hopes of fortune, ay, my very soul ! 
And thou hast been my ruin ! Now, go on ! 
Laugh at my folly with thy paramour, 
And, sitting on the Count of Lara's kl 
Say what a poor, fond fool Victorian was ! 

[//.• casts her from him ana rushes out.] 

Pre. And this from thee ! 

[Serve closes."] 

Scene V. — The Count of Lara's rooms. Enter the Count. 

Lara. There's nothing in this world so sweet as love, 
And next, to love the sweetest thing is hate ! 
I've learned to hate, and therefore am revenged 
A silly girl to play the prude with me ! 

The lire that I have kindled 

[Enter Francisco.] 

Well, Francisco, 
What tidings from Don Juan ? 

Fran. Good, my lord. 

He will be present. 

Lara. And the Duke of Lermos? 

Fro 77. Was not at home. 

Lara. How with the rest ? 

Fra77. I've found 

The men you wanted. They will all be there, 



"5 



126 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

And at the given signal raise a whirlwind 
Of such discordant noises, that the dance 
Must cease for lack of music. 

Lara. Bravely done. 

Ah ! little dost thou dream, sweet Preciosa, 
What lies in wait for thee. Sleep shall not close 
Thine eyes this night ! Give me my cloak and sword. 

[Exeunt, 

Scene VI. — A retired spot beyond the city gates. Enter Victorian and Hypolito. 

Vict. O shame ! O shame ! Why do I walk abroad 
By daylight, when the very sunshine mocks me, 
And voices, and familiar sights and sounds 
Cry, "Hide thyself!" O what a thin partition 
Doth shut out from the curious world the knowledge 
Of evil deeds that have been done in darkness ! 
Disgrace has many tongues. My fears are windows, 
Through which all eyes seem gazing. Every face 
Expresses some suspicion of my shame, 
And in derision seems to smile at me ! 

Hyp. Did I not caution thee ? Did I not tell thee 
I was but half-persuaded of her virtue ? 

Vict. And yet, Hypolito, we may be wrong, 
We may be over-hasty in condemning ! 
The Count of Lara is a cursed villain. 

Hyp. And therefore is she cursed, loving him. 

Vict. She does not love him ! 'Tis for gold ! for gold i 

Hyp. Ay, but remember, in the public streets 
He shows a golden ring the Gipsy gave him, 
A serpent with a ruby in its mouth. 

Vict. She had that ring from me ! God ! she is false ! 
But I will be revenged ! The hour is passed. 
Where stays the coward ? 

Hyp. Nay, he is no coward j 

A villain, if thou wilt, but not a coward. 
I've seen him play with swords ; it is his pastime. 
And therefore be not over-confident, 
He'll task thy skill anon. Look, here he comes. 

\Enter Lara, followed ly Francisco.] 
Lara. Good evening, gentlemen. 
Hyp. Good evening, Count. 

Lara. I trust I have not kept you long in waiting. 
Vict. Not long, and yet too long. Are you prepared ? 



THE SPANISH STUDENT, 127 

Lara. I am. 

Hyp. It grieves me much to see this cjuarrel 
Between you, gentlemen. Is there no way 
Left open to accord this difference, 
But you must make one with your swords > 

Vict. No ! none ! 

I do entreat thee, dear Hypolito, 
Stand not between me and my foe. Too long 
Our tongues have spoken. Let these tongues of bteel 
End our debate. Upon your guard, Sir Count ! 
[Theyjight. Victorian disarms the Count.] 
Your life is mine ; and what shall now withhold me 
From sending your vile soul to its account ? 

Lara. Strike ! strike ! 

Vict. You are disarmed. I will not kill you. 
I will not murder you. Take up your sword. 
[Francisco hands the Count his sword, and Hypolito inti , 

Hyp. Enough ! Let it end here ! The Count of Lara 
Has shown himself a brave man, and Victorian 
A generous one, a Mow be friends. 

Put up your swords • for, k frankly to you, 

Your cause of quarrel is too slight a thing 
To move you to extremes. 

Lara. I am content. 

I sought no quarrel. A U rds, 

Spoken in the heat of blood, have led to this. 

Vict. Nay, something more than that. 

Lara. I understand you. 

Therein I did not mean to cross your path. 
To me the door stood open, as to others. 
But, had I known the girl belonged to you, 
Never would 1 have sought to win her from you. 
The truth stands now revealed ; she has been false 
To both of us. 

rut. Ay, false as hell itself! 

Lara. In truth I did not seek her ; she sought me ; 
And told me how to win her, telling me 
The hours when she was oftenest left al 

Vict. Say, can you prove this to me ? (), pluck out 
These awful doubts, that goad me into madness ! 
Let me know all ! all ! all ! 

Lara, You shall know all. 

Here is my page, who was the messenger 



128 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Between us. Question him. Was it not so, 
Francisco? 

Fran. Ay, my lord. 

Lara. If farther proof 

Is needful, I have here a ring she gave me. 

Vict. Pray let me see that ring ! It is the same . 

[Throws it upon the ground, and tramples upon it.~] , 

Thus may she perish who once wore that ring ! 
Thus do I spurn her from me ; do thus trample 
Her memory in the dust ! O Count of Lara, 
We both have been abused, been much abused ! 
I thank you for your courtesy and frankness. 
Though, like the surgeon's hand, yours gave me pain 
Yet it has cured my blindness, and I thank you. 
I now can see the folly 1 have done, 
Though 'tis, alas! too late. So fare you well ! 
To-night I leave this hateful town for ever. 
Regard me as your friend. Once more, farewell ! 
Hyp. Farewell, Sir Count. 

[Exeunt Victorian and Hypolito. ' 

Lara. Farewell! farewell! 

Thus have I cleared the field of my worst foe ! 
I have none else to fear j the fight is done, 
The citadel is stormed, the victory won ! 

[Exit with Francisco. 

Scene VII. — A lane in the suburbs. Night. Enter Cruzado and Bartolom£. 

Cruz. And so, Bartolome, the expedition failed. But where wast 
thou for the most part ? 

Bart. In the Guadarrama mountains, near San Ildefonso. 

Cruz. And thou bringest nothing back with thee ? Didst thou 
rob no one ? 

Bart. There was no one to rob, save a party of students from Segovia, 
who looked as if they would rob us j and a jolly little friar, who had 
nothing in his pockets but a missal and a loaf of bread. 

Cruz. Pray, then, what brings thee back to Madrid ? 

Bart. First tell me what keeps thee here ? 

Cruz. Preciosa. 

Bart. Aud she brings me back. Hast thou forgotten thy promise ? 

Cruz. The two years are not passed yet. Wait patiently. The girl 
shall be thine. 

Bart. I hear she has a Busrie lover. 

Cruz. That is nothing. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. J2 g 

Bart. I do not like it. I hate him,— the son of a Busne harlot He 
goes m and out, and speaks :yith her alone, and I muststand aside and 
wait his pleasure. 

Cruz. Be patient, I say. Thou shalt have thy revenge. When th j 
time comes, thou shalt waylay him. 

Bart. Meanwhile, show me her house. 

Cruz. Come this way. But thou wilt not find her. She dances at 
the play to-night. 

Bart. No matter. Show me the houses [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII —The Theatre. The orchestra plays the caehucha. Sound of castanets 
l-ehind the scenes. I he curtain rises, and discovers Preciosa in the attitude of 
commencing the dance. The caehucha. Tumult ; hisses ; cries of " Brava '" and 
YrzcZsa faint's 6 "* "'"' /,a " i "' ^ """^ $t ° P$ ' General confusion. 

Scene IX.— The Cot nt of Lara's chambers. Lara and his friends at supper. 

Lara. So, Caballeros, once more many thanks ! 
You have stood by me bravely in this matter. 
Pray fill your glasses. 

Juan* Did you mark, Don Luis, 

How pale she looked, when firsl the noise b 
And then stood still, with her large eyes dilated ! 
Her nostrils spread! her lips apart ! her bosom 
Tumultuous as the sea ! 

Luis. I pitied her. 

Lara. Her pride is humbled; and this very night 
I mean to visit her. 

Juan. Will you serenade her ? 

Lara. No music ! no more music ! 

Luis-. Why not music? 

It softens many hearts. 

Lara. Not in the humour 

She now is in. Music would madden her. 

Juan. Try golden cymbals. 
. Luis - Yes, try Don Dinero ; 

A mighty wooer is your Don Dmero. 

Lara. To tell the truth, then, I have bribed her maid. 
But, Caballeros, you dislike this wine. 
A bumper and away j for the night wears. 
A health to Preciosa ! 

[They rise and drink."] 
■All. Preciosa ! 



I3 o THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Lara [holding up his glass]. Thou bright and flaming minister 
of Love ! 
Thou wonderful magician I who hast stolen 
My secret from me, and mid sighs of passion 
Caught from my lips, with red and hery tongue, 
Her precious name i O never more henceforth 
Shall mortal lips press thine ; and never more 
A mortal name be whispered in thine ear. 
Go ! keep my secret. 

[Drinks and dashes the goblet down.] 
Juan. Ite ! missa est ! 

[Sce?ie closes.] 

Scene X.— Street and garden wall. Night. Enter Cruzado and Bartolome. 

Cruz. This is the garden wall, and above it, yonder, is her house. 
The window in which thou seest the light is her window. But we 
will not go in now. 

Bart. Why not ? 

Crux. Because she is not at home. 

Bart. No matter; we can wait. But how is this? The gate 1 
bolted. [Sound of guitars and voices in a neighbouring street.] Hark 
There comes her lover with his infernal serenade ! Hark ! 

SONG. 

Good night ! Good night, beloved ! 

I come to watch o'er thee ! 
To be near thee, — to be near thee, 

Alone is peace for me. 

Thine eyes are stars of morning, 

Thy lips are crimson flowers ! 
Good night ! Good night, beloved, 

While I count the weary hours. 

Cruz. They are not coming this way. 
Bart. Wait, they begin again. 

SONG [coming nearer]. 

Ah ! thou moon that shinest 

Argent-clear above ! 
All night long enlighten 

My sweet lady-love ! 

Moon that shinest, 
All night long enlighten ! 

Bart. Woe be to him if he comes this way ! 
Cruz. Be quiet, they are passing down the ctreek 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 131 

SONG [dying away]. 

The nuns in the cloister 

Sang to each other j 
For so many sisters 

Is there not one brother ! 
Ay, for the partridge, mother ! 

The cat has run away with the partridge ! 
Puss ! puss ! puss ! 

Bart. Follow that ! Follow that ! Come with me. puss ! puss ! 

[Exeunt. On the opposite side enter the Count of Lara and gentlemen, 
with Francisco.] 

Lara. The gate is fast. Over the wall, Francisco, 
And draw the bolt. There, so, and so, and over. 
Now, gentlemen, come in, and help me .scale 
Yon balcony. How now ? Her light still , 
Move warily. Make fast the gate, Francis 

[Exeunt, zado and Bartolom£.] 

Bart. They went in at the gate. Hark ! I hear them in the garden. 
[Tries the gate.] Bolted again ! Vive Crista ! Follow me over the 
'wall. 

[They climb the wall.] 

Scene XI.— Preciosa's Bed-chamber. Midnight. She is sleeping in an arm-chair, 
in an undress. Dolores watchx 

Dol. She .sleeps at last ! 

[Op, us the window miHttens.] 

All silent in the street, 
And in the garden. Hark ! 

Pre. her sleep.] I must go hence ! 

Give m my cloak ! 

Dol. He comes ! I hear his footsteps ! 

Pre. Go tell them that I cannot dance to-night ; 
I am too ill ! Look at me ! See the fever 
That burns upon my cheek ! I must go hence, 
I am too weak to dance-. 

[Signal from the garden.] 

Dol. [from the window.'] Who's there ? 

Voice [from below], A friend, 

Dol. I will undo the door. Wait till I come. 

Pre. I must go hence. I pray you do not harm me ! 
Shame ! shame ! to treat a feeble woman thus ! 
Be you but. kind, I will do all things for you. 



to,* THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

I'm ready now, — give me my castanets. 
Where is Victorian ? Oh, those hateful lamps ! 
They glare upon me like an evil eye. 
I cannot stay. Hark ! how they mock at me ! 
They hiss at me like serpents ! Save me ! save me! 

[She icakcs.] 
How late is it, Dolores ? 

Dol. It is midnight. 

Pre. We must be patient. Smooth this pillow for me. 
[She sleeps again. Noise from the garden, and voices.] 

Voice. Muera ! 

Another Voice. O villains ! villains ! 

Lara. So ! have at you ! 

Voice. Take that ! 

Lara. O, I am wounded ! 

Dol. [shutting the window.'] Jesu Maria ! 

ACT III. 

Scene I. — A cross-road through a icood. In the background a distant village spire. 
Victorian and Hypolito, as travelling studwits, with guitars, sitting under tht 
trees. Hypolito plays and sings. 

SONG. 

Ah, Love ! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

Enemy 
Of all that mankind may not rue ! 

Most untrue 
To him who keeps most faith with thee. 

Woe is me ! 
The falcon has the eyes of the dove. 

Ah, Love! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

Vict. Yes, Love is ever busy with his shuttle, 
Is ever weaving into life's dull warp 
Bright, gorgeous flowers and scenes Arcadian -, 
Hanging our gloomy prison-house about 
With tapestries, that make its walls dilate 
In never-ending vistas of delight. 

Hyp. Thinking to walk in those Arcadian pastures, 
Thou hast run thy noble head against the wall. 

SONG [continued]. 
Thy deceits 
Give us clearly to comprehend, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 133 

Whither tend 
All thy pleasures, all thy sweets . 

They are cheats, 
Thorns below and flowers above. 

Ah, Love ! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

Vkt. A very pretty song. I thank thee for it. 

Hyp. It suits thy case. 

Vict. Indeed, I think it does. 

What wise man wrote it ? 

Hyp. Lopez Maldonado. 

Vict. In truth, a pretty song. 

Hyp. With much truth in it. 
I hope thou wilt profit by it ; and in earnest 
Try to forget this lady of thy love. 

Vict. I will forget her! All dear recollections 
Pressed in my heart, like flowers within a I 
Shall be torn out, and .scattered to the winds ! 
I will forget her ! But perhaps hereafter, 
When she shall Learn how heartless is the world, 
A voice within her will repeat my name, 
And she will say, li He was indeed my friend!" 
O, would I were a soldier, not a scholar, 
That the loud march, the deafening beat of drums, 
The shattering blast of the brass-throated trumpet, 
The din of arms, the onslaught and the storm, 
And a swift death, might make me deaf for ever 
To the upbraidings of this foolish heart ! 

Hyp. Then let that foolish heart upbraid no more! 
To conquer love, one need but will to conquer. 

Vict, Yet, good Hypolito, it is in vain 
I throw into Oblivion's sea the sword 
That pierces me ; for, like Exealibar, 
"With gemmed and flashing hilt, it will not sink. 
There rises from below a hand that grasps it, 
And waves it in the air ; and wailing voices 
Are heard along the shore. 

Hyp. And yet at last 

Down sank Exealibar to rise no more. 
This is not well. In truth, it vexes me. 
Instead of whistling to the steeds of Time, 
To make them jog on merrily with life's bu 
Like a dead weight thou hangest on the whe 
Thou art too young, too full of lusty health 
To talk of dying. 



134 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Vict. Yet I fain would die ! 

To go through life, unloving and unloved ; 
To feel that thirst and hunger of the soul 
We cannot still j that longing, that wild impulse, 
And struggle after something we have not 
And cannot have 3 the effort to be strong -, 
And, like the Spartan boy, to smile, and smile, 
While secret wounds do bleed beneath our cloaks - 3 
All this the dead feel not, — the dead alone ! 
Would I were with them ! 

Hyp. We shall all be soon. 

Vict. It cannot be too soon ; for I am weary 
Of the bewildering masquerade of Life, 
Where strangers walk as friends, and friends as strangers : 
Where whispers overheard betray false hearts ; 
And through the mazes of the crowd we chase 
Some form of loveliness, that smiles, and beckons, 
And cheats us with fair words, only to leave us 
A mockery and a jest ; maddened, — -confused, — 
Not knowing friend from foe. 

j Hyp. Why seek to know ? 

Enjoy the merry shrove-tide of thy youth ! 
Take each fair mask for what it gives itself, 
Nor strive to look beneath it. 
i Vict. I confess, 

That were the wiser part. But hope no longer 
Comforts my soul. I am a wretched man, 
Much like a poor and shipwrecked mariner, 
Who, struggling to climb up into the boat, 
Has both his bruised and bleeding hands cut oflj 
And sinks again into the weltering sea, 
Helpless and hopeless ! 

Hyp. Yet thou shalt not perish; 

The strength of thy own arm is thy salvation. 
Above thy head, through rifted clouds, there shines 
A glorious star. Be patient. Trust thy star ! 
[Sound of a village bell in the distance."] 

Vict. Ave Maria ! I hear the sacristan 
Ringing the chimes from yonder village belfry ! 
A solemn sound, that echoes far and wide 
Over the red roofs of the cottages, 
And bids the labouring hind a-field, the shepherd 
Guarding his flock, the lonely muleteer, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 135 

And all the crowd in village streets, stand still, 
And breathe a prayer unto the blessed Virgin ! 

Hyp. Amen ! amen ! Not half a league from hence 
The village lies. 

Vict. This path will lead us to it, 

Over the wheat fields, where the shadows sail 
Across the running sea, now green, now blue, 
And, like an idle mariner on the main, 
Whistles the quail. Come, let us hasten on. [Exeunt. 

BNS II. — Pul-lic square in the village of Guadarrama. The Ave Maria still 
tolling. A crowd of villagers, with their hats in their hands, as if in prayer. 
In front, a group of Gipsies. The bell rings a merrier -peal. A Gipsy dance. 
Enter Paxcho, followed iy Peuho Chlsi-o. 

Pan. Make room, ye vagabonds and Gipsy thieves ! 
Make room for the Alcalde and for me ! 

Cres. Keep slL q< e all ! I have an edict b< 
From our most gracious Lord, the King oi Spain, 
Jerusalem, and the Canary [glands, 
Which I shall publish In the market-p] 
Open your ears and listen ! 

[Enter the Padre Cura at the door of his cottage.'] 

Padre Cura, 
Good day ! and. pray you. 

Padre. Good day, and God be with you. Pray, what is it ; 
Cres. An act of banishment against th 

[Agitation and murmurs in the croud.'] 

Pan. Silence ! 

Cres. [reads."] " I hereby order and command 
That the Egyptian and Chaldean stran 
Known by the name of Gipsies, shall henceforth 

Be banished from the realm, as vagabonds 

And beggars ; and if, alter seventy d 1 

Any be found within our kingdom's bounds, 

They shall receive a hundred lashes each j 

The second time, shall have their cars cut off; 

The third, be slues for life to him who takes them, 

Or burnt as heretics. Signed, I, the King." 

Vile miscreants and creatures unbaptized ! 

You hear the law ! Obey and disappear ! 



1.36 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Pan. And if in seventy days you are not gone, 
Dead or alive I make you all my slaves. 
[The Gipsies go cut in confusion, showing signs of fear and discontent. 
Pan c uo follows.'] 

Padre. A righteous law 1 A very righteous law ! 
Pray you, sit down. 

Cres. I thank you heartily. 

[They seat themselves on a bench at the Padre Cura's door. Sound of guitars 
heard at a distance, approaching during the dialogue zchichj'ollows.j 

A very righteous judgment, as you say. 

Now tell me, Padre Cura, — you know all things, — 

How came these Gipsies into Spain ? 

Padre. Why, look you ; 

They came with Hercules from Palestine, 
And hence are thieves and vagrants, Sir Alcalde, 
As the Simoniacs from Simon Magus. 
And, look you, as Fray Jayme Bleda says, 
There are a hundred marks to prove a Moor 
Is not a Christian, so 'tis with the Gipsies. 
They never marry, never go to mass, 
Never baptize their children, nor keep Lent, 
Nor see the inside of a church, — nor — nor — 

Cres. Good reasons, good, substantial reasons, all! 
No matter for the other ninety-five. 
They should be burnt, I see it plain enough, — 
They should be burnt. 

[Enter Victorian and Hypolito playing."] 

Padre. And pray, whom have we here ? 

Cres. More vagrants ! By Saint Lazarus, more vagrants ! 

Hyp. Good evening, gentlemen ! Is this Guadarrama ? 

Padre. Yes, Guadarrama, and good evening to you. 

Hyp. We seek the Padre Cura of the village ; 
And, judging from your dress and reverend mien, 
You must be he. 

Padre. lam. Pray, what's your pleasure? 

Hyp. We are poor students, travelling in vacation. 
You know this mark ? 

[Touching the wooden spoon in his hat-l-a?id.] 

Padre [joyfully]. Ay, know it, and have worn it. 

Cres. [aside.] Soup-eaters! by the mass! The worst of vagrants ! 
And there's no law against them. Sir, your servant. [Exit, 

Padre. Your servant, Pedro Crespo. 

Hyp. Padre Cura, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 157 

From the first moment I beheld your face, 
I said within myself, " This is the man !" 
There is a certain something in your looks, 
A certain scholar-like and studious something, — 
You understand, — which cannot be mistaken j 
Which marks you as a very learned man, 
In fine, as one of us. 

Vict, [aside.'] What impudence ! 

Hyp. As we approached, I said to my companion, 
' That is the Padre Cura ; mark my words!" 
Meaning your grace. "The other man," said I, 
'•'Who sits so awkwardly upon the bench, 
Must be the sacristan." 

Padre. Ah! said you so? 

Why, that was Pedro Crespo, the ale. 

Hyp. Indeed! you much astonish me ! His air 
Was not so full of dignity and grace 
As an alcalde's should be. 

Padre. That is true. 

He is out of humour with some vagrant Gips 
Who have their camp here in the neighbourhood. 
There is nothing so undignified as anger. 

Hyp. The Padre Cura will excuse our boldnesSj 
If, from his well-known hospitality, 
We crave a lodging for the night. 

Padre. I pray you ! 

You do me honour! I am but too happy 
To have such guests beneath my humble root". 
It is not often that I have occasion 
To speak with scholars; and Emollil mores. 
Nee sinit esseferos, Cicero says. 

Hyp. 'Tis Ovid, is it not: 

Padre. No, Cicero. 

Hyp. Your Grace is right. Yoti are the better scholar. 
Now what a dunce was ! to think it Ovid! 
But hang me if it is not ! (J side.) 

Padre. Pa^s this way. 

He was a very great man, was Cicero! 
Pray you, go in, go in ! no ceremony. [Exeunt. 

:ene III. — A room in the Padre Clra's house. Enter the Padre and Hvpomto. 

Padre. So then, Seilor, you come from Alcala. 
I am glad to hear it. It was there I studied. 



138 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Hyp. And left behind an honoured name, no doubt. 
How may I call your Grace ? 

Padre. Geronimo 

De Santillana, at your Honour's service. 

Hyp. Descended from the Marquis Santillana ? 
From the distinguished poet ? 

Padre. From the 

Not from the poet. 

Hyp. Why, they were the same. 

Let me embrace you ! O some lucky star 
Has brought me hither ! Yet once more ! — once more ! 
Your name is ever green in Alcala, 
And our professor, when we are unruly, 
Will shake his hoary head, and say, "Alas ! 
It was not so in Santillana's time !" 

Padre. I did not think my name remembered there. 

Hyp. More than remembered ; it is idolized. 

Padre. Of what professor speak you ? 

Hyp. Timoneda. 

Padre. I don't remember any Timoneda. 

Hyp. A grave and sombre man, whose beetling brow 
O'erhangs the rushing current of his speech 
As rocks o'er rivers hang. Have you forgotten ? 

Padre. Indeed, I have. O those were pleasant days, — 
Those college days ! I ne'er shall see the like ! 
I had not buried then so many hopes ! 
I had not buried then so many friends ! 
I've turned my back on what was then before me 5 
And the bright faces of my young companions 
Are wrinkled like my own, or are no more. 
Do you remember Cueva ? 

Hyp. Cueva ? Cueva ? 

Padre. Fool that I am ! He was before your time. 
You're a mere boy, and I am an old man. 

Hyp. I should not like to try my strength with you. 

Padre. Well, well. But I forget ; you must be hungry. 
Martina ! ho ! Martina ! 'Tis rny niece. 

[Enter Martina.] 

Hyp. You may be proud of such a niece as that. 
I wish I had a niece. Emollit mores. \_Asll 

He was a very great man, was Cicero ! 
Your servant, fair Martina. 
. Mart. Servant, sir. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. j : >9 

Padre. This gentleman is hungry. See thou to it. 
Let us have supper. 

Mart. 'Twill be ready soon. 

Padre. And bring a bottle of my Val-de-Peuas 
Out of the cellar. Stay; I'll go myself. 
Pray you, SeHor, excuse me. r^^ 

lh JP- Hist! Martina! 

( )ne word with you. Bless me ! what handsome eyes ! 
1 o-day there have been Gipsies in the village. 
Is it not so? 

Mart. There have been Gipsies here. 

Hyp. Yes, and they told vour fortune. 
Mart, [embarrassed.-] To]d my f ortune > 

Hyp- Yes, yes ■ I knew they did. Give me your hand. 
I 11 tell yon what they said. They .aid,— they .said, 
The shepherd boy that loved you 
And him you should not marry. Was it not? 
Mart, [surprised.] I low know you that r 

«ru ^' ,- , °> l knou ' more than that. 

What a soft, little hand ! And then they said, 

A cavalier from eourt, handsome, and tall, 

And rich, should come one day to marry you, 

And you should be a lady. Was it not'? ' 

He has arrived, the handsome cavalier, 

[Tries to kiss her. She runs of. Enter Victorian, with a Utter.] 

J "nt. The muleteer has come. 

n :U>- So soon ? 

£. J .' cL I found him 

Sitting at supper by the tavern door, 

And, from a pitcher that he held aloft 

His whole arm's length, drinking the blood-red wine. 

Hyp. What news from Court J 
_. J lcL He brought this letter only. f 

O cursed perfidy ! Why did I let 
That lying tongue deceive me ! Preciosa, 
Sweet Preciosa ! how art thou avenged ! 

Hyp. What news is this, that makes thy cheek turn oalc 
And thy hand tremble? 

' lct - O, most infamous ! 

The Count of Lara is a damned villain ! 

Hyp. That is no news, forsooth. 

rp [ rt \ r He strove in vain 

lo steal from me the jewel of my soul, 



140 THE SPANISH STUDENT, 

The love of Preciosa. Not succeeding, 
He swore to be revenged -, and set on foo' 
A plot to ruin her, which has succeeded. 
She has been hissed and hooted from the stage, 
Her reputation stained by slanderous lies 
Too foul to speak of; and, once more a beggar, 
She roams a wanderer over God's green earth, 
Housing with Gipsies ! 

Hyp. To renew again 

The Age of Gold, and make the shepherd swains 
Desperate with love, like Gaspar Gil's Diana. 
Redit et Virgo ! 

Vict. Dear Hypolito, 

How have I wronged that meek, confiding heart ! 
I will go seek for her ; and with my tears 
Wash out the wrong I've done her ! 

Hyp. O beware ! 

Act not that folly o'er again. 

Vict. Ay, folly, 

Delusion, madness, call it what thou wilt, 
I will confess my weakness, — I still love her ! 
Still fondly love her ! 

[Enter the Padre Cura.] 

Hyp. Tell us, Padre Cura, 

Who are these Gipsies in the neighbourhood ? 

Padre. Beltran Cruzado and his crew. 

Vict. Kind Heaven, 

I thank thee ! She is found ! is found again ! 

Hyp. And have they with them a pale, beautiful girl. 
Called Preciosa ? 

Padre. Ay, a pretty girl. 

The gentleman seems moved. 

Hyp. Yes, moved with hunger, 

He is half-famished with this long day's journey. 

Padre. Then, pray you, come this way. The supper wails. 

[Exeunt. • 

Scene IV. — A post-house on the road to Segovia, not far from the village 
Gvadarrama. Enter Chispa, craclcing a ichip, and si?iging the Cachucha. 

Chis. Halloo ! Don Fulano ! Let us have horses, and quickly. Alt 
poor Chispa ! what a dog's life dost thou lead ! I thought, when I It 
my old master Victorian, the student, to serve ray new master, D( 
Carlos, the gentleman, that I, too, should lead the life of a gentlemai 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 141 

jhould go to bed early, and get up late. For when the abbot plays 
fards, what can you expect of the friars ? But, in running away from 
be thunder, I have run into the lightning. Here I am in hot chase 
liter my master and his Gipsy girl. And a good beginning of the 
veek it is, as he said who was hanged on Monday morning. 

[Enter Don Carlos.] 

I Carlos. Are not the horses ready yet ? 

1 Chis. I should think not, for the hostler seems to be asleep. Ho ! 

jrithin there '. Horses ! horses ! horses ! [He knocks at the gate with 

\s whip, and cuter Mosquito, putting on his jacket."] 

i Mos. Pray, have a little patience. I'm not a musket. 

\ Chis. Health and pistareens ! I'm glad to see you come on 

lancing, padre ! Pray, what's the news \ 

Mos. You cannot have fresh horses : because there are none. 

Chis. Cachiporra ! Throw that bone to another dog. Do I look 
ke your aunt ? 

Mos. No j she has a beard. 

Chis. Go to ! Go to ! 

Mos. Are you from Madrid ? 

Chis. Yes ■, and going to Estramadura. Get us horses. 

Mos. What's the news at Court r 

Chis. Why, the latest news is, that I am going to set up a coach, 
nd I have already bought the whip. 

[Strikes him round the legs."] 

Mos. Oh ! oh ! you hurt me ! 

Carlos. Enough of this folly. Let us have horses. [Gives money 

Mosquito.] It is almost dark ; and we are in haste. But tell 
ne, has a band of Gipsies passed this way of late ? 

Mos. Yes; and they are still in the neighbourhood. 

Carlos. And where? 

Mos. Across the fields yonder, in the woods near Guadarrama. 

[Exit. 

Carlos. Now this is lucky. We will visit the Gipsy camp. 

Chis. Are ycu not afraid of the evil eye ? Have you a stag's horn 
vith you ? 

Carlos. Fear not. We will pass the night at the village. 
i Chis. And sleep like the Squires of Hernan Daza, nine under one 
olanket. 

Carlos. I hope we may find the Preciosa among them, 
i Chis. Among the Squires ? 

1 Carlos. No ; among the Gipsies, blockhead ! \ 
Chis. I hope we may ; for we are giving ourselves trouble enough 



142 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

on her account. Don't you think so ? However, there is no catching 

trout without wetting one's trousers. Yonder come the horses. 

[Exeunt 

Scene V.— The Gipsy camp in the forest. Night. Gipsies working at a forge. 
Others playing cards ly the firelight. 

GIPSIES [at the forge sing]. 

On the top of a mountain I stand, 
With a crown of red gold in my hand, 
Wild Moors come trooping over the lea, 
O how from their fury shall I flee, flee, flee ? 
O how from their fury shall I flee ?' 

ist Gipsy [playing']. Down with your John-Dorados,* my pigeon 
Down with your John-Dorados, and let us make an end. 

GIPSIES [at the forge sing']. 
Loud sang the Spanish cavalier, 

And thus his ditty ran : 
God send the Gipsy lassie here, 

And not the Gipsy man. 

ist Gipsy [playing]. There you are in your morocco. 
2nd Gipsy. One more game. The Alcalde's doves against the Padrc 
Cura's new moon. 

ist Gipsy. Have at you, Chirelin. 

GIPSIES [at the forge sing]. 
At midnight, when the moon began 

To show her silver flame, 
There came to him no Gipsy man, 

The Gipsy lassie came. 

[Enter Beltran Cruzado.] 

Cruz. Come hither, Murcigalleros and Rastilleros ; leave work, leave 
play ; listen to your orders for the night. [Speaking to the right.'] 
You will get you to the village, mark you, by the stone cross. 

Gipsies. Ay ! 

Crux, [to the left.] And you, by the pole with the hermit's heac 
upon it. 

* The Gipsy words in this scene may be-thus interpreted : — 

John-Dorados, pieces of gold. Hermit, highway robber. 

Pigeon, a simpleton. Planets, candles. 

In your morocco, stripped. Commandments, the fingers. 

Doves, sheets. Saint Martin asleep, to rob a person asleep. 

Moon, a shirt. Lanterns, eyes. 

Chirelin, a thief. Goblin, police officer. 

Murcigalleros, those who Steal at nightfall. Papagayo, a spy. 

Rastilleros, footpads. Vineyards cni Dancing Ji.hn, to take flight. 




"How strangely gleams through the gigantic trees 
The red light of the forge!" 



The Spanish Student. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 143 

I Gipsies. Ay ! 

Cruz. As soon as you see the planets are out, in with you, and be 
|busy with the ten commandments, under the sly, and Saint Martin 
asleep. D'ye hear r 

Gipsies. Ay ! 

Cruz. Keep your lanterns open, and, if you see a goblin or a papa- 
jayo, take to your trampers. " Vineyards and Dancing John " is the 
word. Am I comprehended ? 

Gipsies. Ay ! ay ! 

Cruz. Away, then ! 

{Exeunt severally. Cruzado walks up the stage and disappears among the 
Enter Preciosa.] 

Pre. How strangely gleams through the gigantic trees 
The red light of the forge ! Wild, beckoning shadows 
Stalk through the forest, ever and anon 
Rising and bending with the flickering flame, 
Then flitting into darkness! So within me 
Strange hopes and fears do beckon to each other, 
My brightest hopes giving dark tears a being 
As the light does the shadow. Woe is me ! 
How still it is about me, and how lonely ! 

[Bartolomr rushes in.~\ 

Bart. Ho! Preciosa! 

Pre. O, Bartolome ! 

Thou here } 

Bart. Lo ! I am lure. 

Pre. Whence contest thou? 

Bart. From the rough ridges of the wild Sierra, 
From caverns in the rocks, from hunger, thirst, 
And fever! Like a wild wolf to the sheepfold, 
Come I for thee, my lamb. 

Pre. O touch me not ! 

The Count of Lara's blood i.s on thy hands ! 
The Count of Lara's curse i> on thy soul ! 
Do not come near me ! Pray, begone from here! 
Thou art in danger ! They have set a price 
Upon thy head ! 

Bar/. Ay, and I've wandered long 

Among the mountains ; and for many days 
Have seen no human face, save the rough swine-herd's. 
The wind and rain have been my sole companions. 
I shouted to them from the rocks thy name, 
And the loud echo sent it back to me, 



i 4 4 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Till I grew mad. I could not stay from thee. 
And I am here ! Betray me, if thou wilt. 
Pre. Betray thee ? I betray thee ? 
Bart. Preciosa ! 

I come for thee ! for thee I thus brave death ! 
Fly with me o'er the borders of this realm ! 
Fly with me ! 

Pre. Speak of that no more. I cannot. 

I am thine no longer. 

Bart. O, recall the time 

When we were children ! how we played together, 
How we grew up together ; how we plighted 
Our hearts unto each other, even in childhood ! 
Fulfil thy promise, for the hour has come. 
I am hunted from the kingdom, like a wolf ! 
Fulfil thy promise. 

Pre. 'Twas my father's promise, 

Not mine. I never gave my heart to thee, 
Nor promised thee my hand ! 

Bart. False tongue of woman ! 

And heart more false ! 

Pre. Nay, listen unto me. 

I will speak frankly. I have never loved thee ; 
I cannot love thee. This is not my fault, 
It is my destiny. Thou art a man 
Restless and violent. What wouldst thou with me, 
A feeble girl, who have not long to live, 
Whose heart is broken ? Seek another wife, 
Better than I, and fairer ; and let not 
Thy rash and headlong moods estrange her from thee. 
Thou art unhappy in this hopeless passion. 
I never sought thy love ; never did aught 
To make thee love me. Yet I pity thee, 
And most of all I pity thy wild heart, 
That hurries thee to crimes and deeds of blood, 
Beware, beware of that. 

Bart. For thy dear sake, 

I will be gentle. Thou shalt teach me patience. 

Pre. Then take this farewell, and depart in peace. 
Thou must not linger here. 

Bart. Come, come with me. 

Pre. Hark ! I hear footsteps. 
Bart. I entreat thee, come I 

Pre. Away ! It is in vain. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. Mj 

JPjjt. Wilt thou not come? 

Pre. Never! 

Bart. Then woe, eternal woe, upon thee. 

Thou shalt not be another's. Thou shalt die. [I& it. 

Pre. All holy angels keep me in this hour ! 
Spirit of her who bore me, look upon me ! 
Mother of God, the glorified, protect me ! 
Christ and the saints, be merciful unto me ! 
Yet why should I fear death ? What is it to die ? 
To leave all disappointment, care, and sorrow, 
To leave all falsehood, treachery, and nnkindness, 
All ignominy, suffering, and despair, 
And be at rest for ever ! O, dull heart, 
Be of good cheer ! When thou shalt cease to beat, 
Then shalt thou cease to suffer and complain ! 

[Enter Victorian and Hypolito behind.'] 

Vict. 'Tis she ! Behold, how beautiful she stands 
Under the tent-like trees ! 

Hyp. A woodland nymph ! 

Vict. I pray thee, stand abide. Leave me. 

Hyp. Be wary. 

Do not betray thyself too soon. 

Vict, [disguising his voice."] Hist ! ( 

Pre. [aside, with emotion,"] That voice ! that voice from b 
O speak again ! 
Who is it calls ? 

Vict. A friend. 

Pre. [aside.] 'Tis he ! 'Tis he ! 

I thank thee, Heaven, that thou hast heard my prayer, 
And sent me this protector ! Now be strong, 
Be strong, my heart ! I must dissemble here. 
False friend or true ? 

Vict. A true friend to the true. 

Fear not; come hither. So; can yon tell fortunes? 

Pre. Not in the dark. Come nearer to the lire. 
Give me your hand. It is not crossed, I see. 

Vict, [putting a piece of gold into her liand.~] There is the cr:>s\ 

Pre. Is't silver ? 

Vict. No, 'tis gold. 

Pre. There's a fair lady at the Court, who loves you, 
And for yourself alone. 

Vict. Fie! the old story! 

Tell me a better fortune for my money 5 
Not this old woman's tale ! 



j 4 6 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

Pre. You are passionate ; 

And tliis same passionate humour in your blood 
Has marred your fortune. Yes 5 I see it now 3 
The line of life is crossed by many marks. 

Shame ! shame ! O you have wronged the maid who loved yon ! 
How could you do it ? 

Vict. I never loved a maid ; 

For she I loved was then a maid no more. 

Pre. How know you that ? 

Vict. A little bird in the air 

Whispered the secret. 

Pre. There, take back your gold ! 

Your hand is cold, like a deceiver's hand ! 
There is no blessing in its charity! 
Make her your wife, for you have been abused ; 
And you shall mend your fortunes, mending hers. 

Vict, [aside."] How like an angel's speaks the tongue of woman, 

When pleading in another's cause her own ! 

That is a pretty ring upon your finger. 
Pray give it me. [Tries to take the ring.] 

Pre. No 5 never from my hand 

Shall that be taken ! 

Vict. Why, 'tis but a ring. 

I'll give it back to you ; or, if I keep it, 
Will give you gold to buy you twenty such. 

Pre. Why would you have this ring ? 

Vict. A traveller's fancy, 

A whim, and nothing more. I would fain keep it 
As a memento of the Gipsy camp 
In Guadarrama, and the fortune-teller 
Who sent me back to wed a widowed maid. 
Pray, let me have the ring. 

Pre. No, never ! never ! 

I will not part with it, even when I die ; 
But bid my nurse fold my pale fingers thus, 
That it may not fall from them. 'Tis a token 
Of a beloved friend, who is no more. 

Vict. How? dead? 

Pre. Yes • dead to me ; and worse than dead. 
He is estranged ! And yet I keep this ring. 
I will rise with it from my grave hereafter, 
To prove to him that I was never false. 

Vict, [aside.] Be still, my swelling heart! one moment, still! 
Why, 'tis the folly of a love-sick girl. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 147 

Come, give it me, or I will say 'tis mine, 
And that you stole it. 

Pre. O, you will not dare 

To utter such a fiendish lie ! 

Vict. Not dare ? 

Look in my face, and say if there is aught 
I have not dared, I would not dare for thee ! 

[She rushes into his arms.'] 

Pre. 'Tis thou ! 'tis thou ! Yes ; yes 3 my heart's elected ! 
My dearest-dear Victorian ! my soul's h< 
Where hast thou been so long r Why didst thou leave me ? 

Vict. Ask me not now, my dearest Preciosa. 
Let me forgt I we ever have b< en parted! 

Pre. Hadst thou not come 

Vict. I pray thee, do not chide me ! 

Pre. I should have perished here among these Gipsies, 

Vict. Forgive me, sweet ! for what I made thee suffer. 

Think st thou this heart could feel a moment's joy, 

Thou being absent ? O, believe it Dot ! 
Indeed, since that sad hour I have not slept, 
For thinking of the wrong I did to tin 
D(^t thou forgive me? Say, wilt thou forgive 

Pre. I have forgiven thee. Ere those words of anger 
Were in the book of Heaven writ down against thee, 
I had forgiven thee. 

Vict. I'm the veriest fool 
That walks the earth, to ha\e believed thee false. 
It was the Count of Lara 

Pre. That bad man 
Has worked me harm enough. Hast thou not heard 

Vict. 1 have heard all. And yet speak on, speak on! 
Let me but hear thy voice, and I am happy; 
For every tone, like some sweet incantation, 
Calls up the buried past to plead for me. 
Speak, my beloved, speak into my heart, 
Whatever fills and agitates thine own. 

[They walk aside."] 

Hyp. All gentle quarrels in the pastoral poets, 
All passionate love scenes in the best romances, 
All chaste embraces on the public stage, 
.All soft adventures, which the liberal stars 
Have winked at, as the natural course of things, 



148 THE SPANISH STUDENT, 

Have been surpassed here by my friend, the student, 
And this sweet Gipsy lass, fair Preciosa ! 

Pre. Senor Hypolito ! I kiss your hand. 
Pray, shall I tell your fortune ? 

Hyp. Net to-night; 

For, should you treat me as you did Victorian, 
And send me back to marry maids forlorn, 
My wedding day would last from now till Christmas. 

Chispa. [within.'] What ho ! the Gipsies, ho ! Beltran Cruzado 
Halloo! halloo! halloo! halloo! 

[Enters looted, with a tchip and lantern."] 

Vict. What now ? 

Why such a fearful din ? Hast thou been robbed ? 

Chis. Ay, robbed and murdered; and good evening to you, 
My worthy masters. 

Vict. Speak; what brings thee here ? 

Chis. [to Preciosa.] Good news from Court; good news 
Beltran Cruzado, 
The Count of the Cales, is not your father ; 
But your true father has returned to Spain 
Laden with wealth. You are no more a Gipsy. 

Vict. Strange as a Moorish tale ! 

Chis. And we have all 

Been drinking at the tavern to your health, 
As wells drink in November, when it rains. 

Vict. Where is the gentleman ? 

Chis. As the old song says, 

His body is in Segovia, 
His soul is in Madrid. 

Pre. Is this a dream ? O, if it be a dream, 
Let me sleep on, and do not wake me yet ! 
Repeat thy story 3 Say I'm not deceived ! 
Say that I do not dream ! I am awake ; 
This is the Gipsy camp ; this is Victorian, 
And this his friend, Hypolito ! Speak ! speak ! 
Let me not wake and find it all a dream ! 

Vict. It is a dream, sweet child ! a waking dream, 
A blissful certainty, a vision bright 
Of that rare happiness, which even on earth 
Heaven gives to those it loves. Now art thou rich, 
As thou wast ever beautiful and good ; 
And I am now the beggar. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. j 49 

Pre. [giving him her hand.'] I have still 
A hand to give. 

Chis. [aside.'] And I have two to take. 
I've heard my grandmother say, that Heaven gives almonds 
To those who have no teeth. That's nuts to crack. 
I've teeth to spare, but where shall I find almords ? 

Vict. What more of this strange story ? 

Chis. Nothing more 

Your friend, Don Carlos, is now at the village 
Showing to Pedro Crespo, the Alcalde, 
The proofs of what I tell you. The old hag, 
Who stole you in your childhood, has confessed; 
And probably they'll hang her for the crime, 
To make the celebration more complete. 

Vict. No ; let it be a day of general joy ; 
Fortune comes well to all, that Ionics not late. 
Now let us join Don Carlos. 

Hyp. So farewell, 

The student's wandering life ! Sweet .serenades, 
Sung under ladies' windows in the night, 
And all that makes vacation beautiful! 
To you, ye cloistered shades of AJcala, 
To you, ye radiant visions of romance, 
Written in books, but here surpassed by truth, 
The Bachelor Hypolito returns, 
And leaves the Gipsy with the Spanish Student. 

iCEnf. VI. — A pass in the Guadarramn mountains. Early morning. A muleteer 
crosses the .stage, sitting sideways on his mule, and lighting a paper cigar with 
flint and steel. 

SOXG. 

If thou art sleeping, maiden, 

Awake and open thy door, 
'Tis the break of day, and we must away 

O'er meadow, and mount, and moor. 

Wait not to find thy slippers, 

But come with thy naked feet ; 
We shall have to pass through the dewy grass, 

And waters wide and fleet. 

[disappears down the pass. Enter a Monk. A Shepherd appears on 
the rocks above.] 

Monk. Ave Maria, gratia plena. Ola ! good man ! 
Shep. Old I ... 



1 
150 THE SPANISH STUDENT, 

Monk. Is this the road to Segovia? 
She p. It is, your reverence. 
Monk. How far is it ? 
Shep. I do not know. 
Monk. What is that yonder in the valley ? 
Shep. San Ildefonso. 
Monk. A long way to breakfast. 
Shep. Ay, marry. 

Monk. Are there robbers in these mountains 
Shep. Yes, and worse than that. 
Monk. What? 
Shep. Wolves. 

Mo?ik. Santa Maria ! Come with me to San Ildefonso, and thon 
shalt be well rewarded. 

Shep. What wilt thou give me ? 

Monk. An Agnus Dei and my benediction. 

\They disappear. A mounted Contrabandista passes, wrapped in his cloak, and 
a gun at his saddle-bow. He goes down the pass singing.'] 

SONG. 

Worn with speed is my good steed, 

And I march me, hurried, worried; 

Onward, caballito mio, 

"With the white star in thy forehead ! 

Onward, for here comes the Ronda, 

And I hear their rifles crack ! 

Ay, jale'o ! Ay, ay, jale'o ! 

Ay, jale'o ! They cross our track ! 

[Song dies away. Enter Preciosa, on horseback, attended by Victorian, Hypolitc 
Don Carlos, and Chispa, on foot, and armed.'] 

Vict. This is the highest point. Here let us rest. 
See, Preciosa, see how all about us 
Kneeling, like hooded friars, the misty mountains 
Receive the benediction of the sun ! 
O glorious sight ! 

Pre. Most beautiful indeed ! 

Hyp. Most wonderful ! 

Vict. And in the vale below, 

Where yonder steeples flash like lifted halberds, 
San Ildefonso, from its noisy belfries, 
Sends up a salutation to the morn, 
As if an army smote their brazen shields, 
And shouted victory ! 

Pre. And which W&Y lies 

Segovia 'i 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 151 

Vict. At a great distance yonder. 
Dost thou not see it ? 

Pre. No, I do not see it. 

Vict. The merest flaw that dents the horizon's Qd^e. 
There, yonder ! 

Hyp. 'Tis a notable old town, 

Boasting an ancient Roman aqueduct, 
And an Alcazar, builded by the Moors, 
Wherein, you may remember, poor Gil Bias 
Was fed on Pan del Rey, O, many a time 
Out of its grated windows have I looked 
Hundreds of feet plumb down to the Kresma, 
That, like a serpent through the valley creeping, 
Glides at its foot. 

Pre. O, yes ! I see it now, 

Yet rather with my heart than with mine eye-. 
So faint it is. And, all my thoughts sail thither. 
Freighted with prayers and hopes, and forward 111 
Against all stre-s of accident, as, in 
The Eastern Tale, against the wind and tide, 
Great ships were drawn to the Magnetic Mounts 
And there were wrecked and perished in the sea ! [fi 

Vict. () gentle spirit ! Thou didst bear unmoved 
Blasts of adversity and frosts of I 
But tin- 1 sunshine that falls on thee 

Melts thee to tears ! (J, lei heart 

Lean upon mine! and it shall faint no more, 

thirst, nor hunger; but be comforted 
And filled with my affection. 

Pre. 
My father waits. Methinks 1 see him there, 
Now looking from the window, and now watching 
Each sound of wheels or foot-fall in the street, 
And saying, "Hark! she comes!" O father! father! 
[They descend the pass. Cnisiw remains behind."] 
Chit. I have a lather, too, but he is a dead - and alack - 

day! Poor was I born, and poor do I remain. I neither win nor 
se. Thus I wag through the world, half the time on foot, and the 
her half walking : and always as merry as a thunder-storm in the 
ight. ... the fly said to the ox. Who 

nows what may happ< e and shuffle the cards ! I am 

ot yet so bald, that you can see my brains ; and perhaps, after all, 
shall some day go to Rome, and come back Saint Peter. Benedicitel 

[Exit. 



152 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

[J pause* Then enter Bartolom£ wildly, as if in pursuit, with a carbine in 
his hand.'] 

Bart. They passed this way ! I hear their horses' hoofs I 
Yonder I see them ! Come, sweet caramillo, 
This serenade shall be the Gipsy's last ! 
[Fires down the pass."] 

Ha ! ha ! Well whistled, my sweet caramillo ! 
Well whistled ! — I have missed her ! — O, my God ! 

[The shot is returned. Ba-rtoiome falls.] 



EVANGELINE. 

A TALE OF ACADIE. 



[The story of " Evangeline" is founded on facts which it will ever be a grief to 
Great Britain to remember. In the year 1713, Acadia (now called Nova Scotia) 
was ceded by France to England. The wishes of the Acadians were not consulted 
in the matter, and it was with difficulty that they could be induced to take the 
oath of allegiance to the British Government. Some time atter, during the war 
between England and France in Canada, they were suspected of having assisted 
the French with provisions and ammunition. 

The truth of this charge was never established, but the Acadians were cruelly 
punished on its assumption. The British Government ordered them to be 
removed from their homes and dispersed through the other colonies; their lands, 
tenements, and cattle being confiscated to the Crown. 

The story of " Evangeline" begins immediately before the announcement of this 
doom — perhaps one of the saddest which ever betel a \\ 



This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, 
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, 
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic. 
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest OH their bosoms. 
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighbouring ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. 

This is the forest primeval ; but where are the hearts that beneath it 
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the. 

huntsman ? 
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers, — 
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, 
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven r 
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers tor ever departed ! 
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October 
'Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far over the ocean. 
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre. 

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient, 
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion, 
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest ; 
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. 



154 EVANGELINE, 

PART THE FIRST, 
I. 

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, 
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre 
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward, 
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number. 
Dikes, that the hands of the farmer had raised with labour incessant, 
Shut out the turbulent tides 5 but at stated seasons the flood-gates 
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. 
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards, and cornfields 
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and away to the northward 
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains 
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic 
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. 
There, in the midst of its farm, reposed the Acadian village. 
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut, 
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. 
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer windows ; and gables projecting 
Over the basement below protected and shaded the door-way. 
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset 
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on ihe chimneys, 
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles 
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden 
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors 
Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the 

maidens. 
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children 
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them. 
Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose matrons and maidens, 
Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. 
Then came the labourers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank 
Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry 
Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village 
Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, 
Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment. 
Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers, — 
Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from 
Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. 
Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows ; 
But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners ; 
There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. 




'■'When in the harvest heat she lore to the reapers at noontide 
Flagons of home-biewed ale." 



Evangeline. 



EVANGELINE. , ? , 

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas 
Benedict Belletontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Gnum-Pre ' 

JJwe It on his goodly acres; and with him, directing his household 
Gentle Evangeline ived, his child, and the pride of the village 
Stalworth and stately ,n form was the man of seventy winters '■ 
Hearty and hale „, la-, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes = 

oak-t«s° W ^ l0CkS ' a ' ld * Ch6ekS « bro "" « *• 
Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summer,. 

"J-re her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the way 

' B ' aCk ' telesT s °% ^>' S^med beneath the brown .shaded he, 

When ,n the harvest heal the bore to the reaper, .,. noontide 
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in .sooth was the maid 

'; n, r: K ; t v* °" *r&* mom - whi,e tha i>di <*><» ^ ***< 

St, •' S " UmU ,hc nir - * ll "' P ries < "">' W« I'V-sop 

Dot? I" < """ R -" 1 ,""' ; ""> ™tu-r, biessings op, ,„ ,., 
Down the long street she passed with herchaple f of bead, and bar 
missaij 

Wearing her X, ,„ 11:m ,,,,,, aml lk . r k ;,, K . of y ^ ^ 
Brought ,„ the olden tunes from France, and since, as an heirl 
Handed down from mother to child, through long generations. 
»« a celestial bi ., more ethereal beauty— 

^ onher &ce a„d encircled her form, when, after c ess 

Homeward serenely -he walked with c;..d\ benediction upon her 
When d» had passed, n seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music 
Firmly build, d « ith raftera of oak, the house of the farmer 
Mood on the side of a bin commanding the sea. a „d a shade 
Sycamore grew by ,l,e door, with a woodbine wreathing around it 
Rudely carved was the porch, with sea,, beneath; and a footpath 
Led I through an orchard wife and disappeared in theraeadow 
Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse, 
huch as the traveller see, in regions remote by the road-side, 
Bud o er a box for the poor, or the bleed image of Mary 

Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. 

ffrm- 6 anT 6 nt< "" ,S °" * e "^ VpK *" b:lr " s and the 

There stood^the broad-wheeled wain,, and the antique ploughs and the 

Struned't^ f 6 iw S T " >e ^ ; and there > in his feathered ,eragIio, 
Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsame ' 



ij6 EVANGELINE. 

Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. 

Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each one 

Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and a staircase, 

Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft. 

There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates 

Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the variant breezes 

Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. 

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pre 
Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. 
Many a youth as he knelt in the church and opened his missal, 
Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deepest devotion j 
Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment ! 
Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended, 
And as he knocked, and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps, 
Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron • 
Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village, 
Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered 
Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. 
But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome ; 
Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith, 
Who was a mighty man in the village, and honoured of all men; 
For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations, 
Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people. 
Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood 
Grew up together as brother and sister ; and Father Felician, 
Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letter 
Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain 

song. 
But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed, 
Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith. 
There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him 
Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything, 
Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him the tire of a cart-wheel 
Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. 
Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness 
Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny aim 

crevice, 
Warm by the forge within they watched the labouring bellows, 
And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes, 
Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. 
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle, . 
Down the hill-side bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. 
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, 



E VA A GELINE. 1 5 7 

Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow 
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight ot its fledglings 5 
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest ot the swallow ! 
Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children. 
He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face ot the morning, 
Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action. 
She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman. 
" Sunshine of Saint Lulalie " was she called 5 for that was the sunshine 
Which, as the rarmers believed, would load their orchards with apples j." 
She, too, would bring to her husband's hou.se delight and abundance, 
Filling it full of love, and the ruddy faces of children. 



Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, 
And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion 1 - 
Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the iee-bound, 
Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands. 
Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the wind mber 

Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of eld witli the angel. 
All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement 
Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey 
Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters asserted 
Cold would the winter be, for thick was the for of 1! e foxes. 
Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful sea 
1 Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints! 
i Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light j and the landscape 
1 Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. 
' Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean 
j Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended. 
j Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards, 
i Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons, 
I All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun 
i Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapours around him j 
! While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow, 
! Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest 
Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels. 

Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness. 
Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending 
Broughtback the evening star to the sky, and the herds to thehomestead. 
Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, 
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. 
Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer, 



15 8 EVANGELINE. 

Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her 

collar, 
Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection. 
Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, 
Where was their favourite pasture. Behind them followed the watch- 
dog, 
Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct, 
Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly 
Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers ; 
Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept ; their protector, 
When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves 
howled. | 

Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes, j 
Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odour. 
Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks, 
While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles, 
Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson, 
Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. 
Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders 
Unto the milkmaid's hand • whilst loud, and in regular cadence 
Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended. [ 

Lowing of cattle and peels of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, 
Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness • 
Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors. 
Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. 

In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer 
Sat in his elbow chair, and watched how the flames and the smoker; 

wreaths 
Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him, 
Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic, 
Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. 
Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair 
Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates on the dresser Ij 
Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. 
Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, 
Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him 
Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards. 
Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline seated, 
Spuming flax, for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her 
Siletit awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle, 
vVhle the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe 
Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments together. 
As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases, 



EVAKGELIXE. 159 

Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar, 
So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked. 

Thus, as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted, 
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges. 
Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith, 
And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him. 
"Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the 

threshold, 
"Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy place on the settle 
Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without th 
Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco ; 
Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling 
Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams 
Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes." 
Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith, 
Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside: — 
"Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever th) jest and thy ballad! 
Ever in cheerfulest mood art thou, when others are filled with 
Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. 
Happy art thou, as ii every day thou hadst pit k _ «. I up a horseshoe. 
Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him, 
And with a coal from the embers had lighted, hi- slow!, continued : — 
"Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors 
Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed againsl OS. 
What their design may be is unknown ; but all an; commanded 
On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate 
Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas! in the meantime 
Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people." 
Then made answer the farmer — " Perhaps some friendlier purp 
Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England 
By the untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted, 
And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children." 
" Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said, warmly, the blacksmith, 
Shaking his head, as in doubt; then, heaving a sigh, he continued : — 
" Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor Port Royal. 
Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, 
Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow. 
Arms ha?e been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds; 
Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the mower." 
Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial tanner : — 
" Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields, 
Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean, 
Than were our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon. 



160 EVANGELINE. 

Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow- 
Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night of the contract. 
Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village 
Strongly have built them and well 5 and, breaking the glebe round'! 

about them, 

Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. 
Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. 
Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children ?" 
As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover's, 
Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, 
And as they died on his lips the worthy notary entered. 



Bent like a labouring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, 

Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public ; 

Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung 

Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and glasses with horn bows 

Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. 

Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred 

Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. 1 

Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive, f 

Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. 

Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion, 

Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. 

He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children ; 

For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, 

And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, 

And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened 

Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children ; 

And how on Christmas-eve the oxen talked in the stable, 

And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell, 

And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes, 

With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. 

Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith, 

Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand 

"Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the talk in the village 

And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand.' 

Then with modest demeanour made answer the notary public, — 

" Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser 5 

And what their errand may be I know not better than others. 

Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention 

Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why then molest us ?" 

" God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith . 



EVANGELINE. 161 

"Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the where- 
fore ? 
Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest!" 
But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public, — 
" Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice 
Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me, 
When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." 
This was the old man's favourite tale, and he loved to repeat it 
When his neighbours complained that any injustice was done them. 
" Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, 
Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice 
Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, 
And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided 
Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. 
Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, 
Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them. 
But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted ; 
Might took the place of right, and the w< ppressed, and the 

mighty 
Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace 
That a necklace ot' pearls was lost, and ere long a suspicion 
Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. 
She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, 
patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. 
As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, 
Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder 
Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand 
Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, 
And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, 
Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." 
Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith 
Stood like a man who fain would speak, but lincleth no language; 
I All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapours 
Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter. 

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, 
'Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed 
Nut-brown ale, that was tamed for its strength in the village of Grand- 

Pre; 
While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and ink-horn, 
Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties, 
; Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle. 
j Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed, 
! And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. 






i6i EVAA'GELINE. 

Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table 
Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver ; 
And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom, 
Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. 
Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed 
While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, 
Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. 
Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men 
Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre, 
Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row' 
Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, 
Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise 
Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows. 
Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, 
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. 

Tkus passed the evening away. Anon the bell from the belfry 
Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway 
Rose the guests and departed j and silence reigned in the household. 
Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step 
Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness. 
Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone 
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. 
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. 
Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness, 
Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden. 
Silent she passed through the hall, and entered the door of her chamber 
Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-pres; 
Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded 
Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven. 
This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage! 
Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife. 
Soofl she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonligh- 
Streamed through the windows and lighted the room, till the heart o- 

the maiden 
Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean. 
Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with 
Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber ! 
Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard, 
Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow 
Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness 
Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight 
Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. 
And as she gazed from the window she saw serenely the moon pass 



EVANGELINE. 163 

Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps, 
As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar ! 



Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pre. 
Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Ba^in of Minas, 
Where the .ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. 
Lite had long been a^tir in the village, and clamorous labour 
Knocked with it^> hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. 
Now from the country around, irom the farms and the neighbouring 

bamlete, 
Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. 
.Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk 
Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadow-,, 
Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, 
Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway. 
Long ere noon, in the village all sounds ot labour were silenced. 
Thronged were the streets with people ; and noisy groups at the house- 

doors 
Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced anil gossiped together. 
Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted; 
For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together. 
All things were held in common, and what one had was another's. 
Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant: 
For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father; 
Bright was her tace with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness 
Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave ii. 

Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, 
bending with golden fruit, was spread the feasl of betrothal, 
There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated j 
There good Benedict sat, and Sturdy Basil the blacksmith. 
Not far withdrawn from these, by the eider-pre.^s and the beehives, 
Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats. 
Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white 
(Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face of the tiddler 
Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers. 
Gaily the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, 
Terns les Bourgeois de Chartres, and I a Carillon de Dunkerque, 
And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. 
Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances 
Gnder the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows; 
bid folk and young together, and children mingled among them. 



"164 EVANGELINE. 

Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter ! 

Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith ! 

So passed the morning away. And lo ! with a summons sonorous 
Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat. 
Thronged ere long was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard 
Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the head- 
stones 
Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. 
Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among then- 
Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangour 
Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casements- 
Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal 
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers. 
Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar, 
Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. 
" You are convened this day," he said, " by his Majesty's orders. 
Clement and kind has he been ; but how you have answered hi" 

kindness, 
Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make and my temper 
Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. 
Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch ; 
Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds, 
Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves from this provinc 
Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there 
Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people ! 
Prisoners now I declare you ; for such is his Majesty's pleasure !" 
As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer, 
Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones 
Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows, 
Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the hous<; 

roofs, 
Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their inclosures $ 
So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. 
Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose 
Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, 
And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the door-way. 
Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce imprecations 
Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er the heads of the othei 
Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith, 
As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. 
Flushed was his face and distorted with passion 3 and wildly he shouted,- 
" Down with the tyrants of England ! we never have sworn the? 
allegiance ! 



E VA NGELINE, i 65 

Death to chese foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our 

harvests !" 
More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier 
Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. 

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, 
Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician 
Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. 
Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence 
All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his people. 
Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured and mournful 
Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. 
" What is this that ye do, my children ? what madness has seized you ? 
Forty years of my life have I laboured among you, and taught you, 
Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another ! 
Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations ? 
Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of Love and forgiveness ? 
This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it 
Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred \ 
Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you ! 
See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion ! 
Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, ' O Father, forg 

them !' 
Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, 
Let us repeat it now, and say, ' O Father, forgive th 
Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people 
Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded that passionate outbreak] 
And they repeated his prayer, and said, " O Father, forgive them !" 

Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the altar. 
Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people responded, 
Not with their lips alone, but their hearts; and the Ave Maria 
Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion 

translated, 
Rose on the ardour of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. 

Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides 
Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children. 
Long at her lather's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand 
'Shielding her eyes from the level ravs of the sun, that, descending, 
; Lighted the village street with mysterious splendour, and roofed each 
J Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windows. 
lLong within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table; 
|There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant with wild flowers; 



1 66 EVANGELINE. 

There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the 

dairy ; 
And at the head of the board the great arm-chair of the farmer. 
Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset 
Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambrosial meadows. 
Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, 
And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial ascended, — 
Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience ! 
Then, all forgetful of self, she wandered into the village, 
Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate hearts of the women, 
As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed, 
Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children. 
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapours 
Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai. 
Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded. 

Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline lingered. 
All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and the windows 
Stood she, and listened and looked, until, overcome by emotion, 
"Gabriel!" cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; but no answer 
Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living. 
Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father. 
Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board stood the suppei 

untasted, 

Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms of terror. 
Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber. 
In the dead of the night she heard the whispering rain fall 
Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the window. 
Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the echoing thunder 
Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created { 
Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of heaven I 
Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slumbered till morning,: 



Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now on the fifth day 

Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. 

Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, 

Came from the neighbouring hamlets and farms the Acadian women, 

Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore, 

Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings, 

Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland. 

Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen, 

While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. 



EVANGELINE. 16; 

Thus to theGaspereaus mouth they hurried; and there on the sea-beach 
Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants. 
All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply ; 
All day long the wains came labouring down trom the village. 
Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting, 
Echoing far o'er the fields came the roll ot drums from the churchyard. 
Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church- 
doors 
Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession 
Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian farmers. 
Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country, 
Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and way-worn, 
So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended 
Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives andtheirdaugh 
Foremost the young men < ame ; and, raising together their voi 
Sang they with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions: — • 
"Sacred hearl of the Saviour! O inexhaustible fountain! 
Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience!" 
Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the 

wayside, 
Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds, in the sunshine above them 
Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits departed. 

Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence, 
Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of affliction, — 
Calmly and sadly waited, until the procession approached her. 
And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. 
Tears then tilled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him, 
Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder, and whispered, — 
"Gabriel, he of good cheer ! for if we love one another, 
Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen !" 
Smiling she spake these words; then suddenly paused, for her father 
Saw she slowly advancing. Alas, how changed was his aspect ! 
Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the lire from his eye, and his 

footstep 
Heavier seemed with the weight of the weary heart in his bosom. 
Rut, with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him, 
Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. 
Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession. 

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking. 
Busily plied the freighted boats; and in the confusion 
Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw 
their children 



1 68 EVANGELINE. 

Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. 

So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, 

While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her father. 

Half the task was not done when the sun went down, and the twilights 

Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste the refluent ocean 

Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand- beach 

Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slippery sea-weed. 

Farther back, in the midst of the household goods and the waggons. 

Like to a gipsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle, 

All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them, 

Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers. 

Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean, 

Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving 

Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the sailors. 

Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures ; 

Sweet was the moist still air with the odour of milk from their udders j it 

Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm- ) 

yard, — 
Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milkmaid. 
Silence reigned in the streets -, from the church no Angelus sounded, 
Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the windows. I 
. 
But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled, 
Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks in the tempest. 
Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered, 
Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying of children. 
Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish, 
Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and cheering, 
Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea-shore. 
Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat with her father, 
And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man, 
Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either thought or emotion, 
E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have been taken. 
Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him, 
Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he looked not, he spake not, \ 
But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering fire-light. 
" Benedicite /" murmured the priest, in tones of compassion. 
More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents 
Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a threshold, 
Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence of sorrow. 
Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden, 
Raising his eyes, fall of tears, to the silent stars that above them 
Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorrows of mortals. 
Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence. 



EVANGELINE. 169 

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red 
Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon 
Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain and meadow, 
Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge shadows together. 
Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village, 
Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships that lay in the roadstead. 
Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were 
Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of 

a martyr. 
Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning thatch, and, uplifting, 
"Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred house-tops 
Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flames intermingled. 

These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on ship- 
board. 
Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, 
"We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Pre ! 
Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm-yards, 
Thinking the day had dawned \ and anon the lowing of cattle 
Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs interrupted. 
Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encampments 
Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska, 
When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the speed of the whirl- 
wind, 
Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the river. 
Such was the sound thai arose on the night, as the herds and the horses 
llroke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the meadows. 

Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless the priest and the maiden 
Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them j 
And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion, 
Lo! from his seat lie had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore 
Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed. 
Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the maiden 
Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her terror. 
Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his bosom. 
Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slumber ; 
And when she woke from the trance, she beheld a multitude near her. 
Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her; 
Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion. 
Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the landscape, 
Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around her, 
And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering senses. 
Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people, — 



i;o EVANGELINE. 

" Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier season 

Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile, 

Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the churchyard." 

Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the sea-sidr 

Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches, 

3ut without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand- Pre. 

And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sorrow, 

Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast congregation, 

Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. 

'Twas the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean, 

With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward 

Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking ; 

And with the ebb of that tide the ships sailed out of the harbour, 

Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. 

1 



PART THE SECOND. 



Many a weary year had passed since the burning of Grand-Pre, 

When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed, 

Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile, 

Exile without an end, and without an example in story. 

Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed 5 

Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from thr 

north-east 
Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of Newfoundland 
Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, 
From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas, — 
From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Water 
Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, 
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth. \ 
Friends they sought and homes ; and many, despairing, heart-broken, 1 
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside. 
Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the churchyards. 
Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered, 
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things. 
Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her extended, 
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway 
Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered before her 
Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and abandoned, 



E VA NGELINE. 1 7 ' 

\ As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is marked by 

Camp-nres long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine. 
; Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, unfinished 5 
i As if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine, 

Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended 

Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen. 
: Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within her, 
! Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit, 
i She would commence again her endless search and endeavour ; 

Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and tomb- 
stones, 
i Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom 
iHe was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him. 

Sometimes a rumour, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper, 

Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward. 

Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and known 
him, 

But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgotten. 

"Gabriel Lajeunesse!" said they; "<>, yes! we have seen him. 
|He was with Basil the Blacksmith, and both have gone to the prairies; 
youreurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers." 
I" Gabriel Lajeunesse !" said Others , u t), yes ! we have seen him. 

He is a foyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana." 

Then w ould they say, — "Dear child ! why dream and wait for him longer? 

Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel ) others 

Who have hearts as tender and true, ami spirits as I 

jHeiv is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee 

JMany a tedious year; come, give him thy hand and he happy ! 

jThou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's tresses. ' 

Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, — " I cannot ! 

Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere. 
[For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the pathway, 

(Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness." 

\nd thereupon the priest, her friend and father-confessor, 

paid, with a smile, — " O daughter ! thy God thusspeaketh within ihee ! 

1'alk not of wasted atfeetion, affection never was wasted; 

([fit enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning 

Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; 

[That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. 

patience ; accomplish thy labour; accomplish thy work of affection ! 

Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. 

Therefore accomplish thy labour of love 1 , till the heart is made godlike, 

Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven I" 

Cheered by the good man's word, Evangeline laboured and waited. 



1 72 EVANGELINE. 

Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean, 

But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whispered, " Despai, 

not !" 
Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless discomfort, 
Bleeding, barefooted, over the. shards and thorns of existence. 
Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wanderer's footsteps ; — 
Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence j 
But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley: 
Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water 
Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only ; 
Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it. r 
Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur ; 
Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches an outlet. 

n. 

It was the month of May. Far down the beautiful River, 

Past the Ohio shore, and past the mouth of the Wabash, 

Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi, 

Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen. 

It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from the shipwrecked 

Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together, 

Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune j 

Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hearsay, 

Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers 

On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas. 

With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician. 

Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness sombre with forests, 

Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river ; 

Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on its borders. 

Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, where plumelike 

Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the current 

Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sand-bars 

Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin, 

Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pelicans waded. 

Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river, 

Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens, 

Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins and dove-cots. 

They were approaching the region where reigns perpetual summer, 

Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange and citron, 

Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the eastward. 

They, too, swerved from their course 5 and, entering the Bayou o\ 

Plaquemine, 
Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters, 



EVANGELINE. 173 

'Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direction. 
•:Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress 
JMet in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid air 
'Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals. 
(Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons 
(Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at sunset, 
lOr by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac laughter. 
•Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water, 
• Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining the arches, 
Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin. 
•iDreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around them ; 
*And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and sadness, — 
Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be compassed. 
As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies, 
Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa, 
So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil, 
Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it. 
But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, thai faintly 
Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moonlight. 
It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape of a phantom. 
Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her, 
And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer. 

Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen. 
And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventare 
Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle. 
Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy the blast rang, 
[Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to the forest. 
boundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to the music. 
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance, 
Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches -, 
But not a voice replied ; no answer came from the darkness ; 
And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence. 
Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed through the midnight, 
Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat-songs, 
Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers. 
And through the night were heard the mysterious sounds of the desert, 
Far off, indistinct, as of wave or wind in the forest, 
Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the grim alligator. 

Thus ere another noon they emerged from those shades ; and before 
them 
I Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya. 
'Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations 



174 EVANGELINE. 

Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus 

Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen. 

Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossoms, 

And with the heat of noon ; and numberless sylvan islands, 

Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses, 

Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber. 

Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended. 

Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin, 

Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about on the greenswardji 

Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered. 

Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar. 

Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grape-vine 

Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob, 

On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending, 

Were the swift humming-birds that flitted from blossom to blossom. 

Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered beneath it. 

Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven 

Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial. 

Nearer and ever nearer, among the numberless islands, 
Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the water, 
Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters and trappers. 
Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and beaver. 
At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful and careworn. 
Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sadness 
Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written. 
Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and restless, 
Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow. 
Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island, 
But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos, 
So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows, 
And undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the sleepers j, 
Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden. s 

Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie. 
After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance, 
As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden 
Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, — " O Father Felician ! 
Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders. 
Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition ? 
Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit ?" 
Then, with a blush, she added, — " Alas for my credulous fancy ! 
Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning." 
But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered, — 
" Daughter, thy words are not idle 5 nor are they to me without meaning. 



EVANGELINE. i;5 

Feeling is deep and still 3 and the word that floats on tne surface 
jls as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. 
(Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. 
'Gabriel truly is near thee 3 for not far away to the southward, 
|On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin. 
(There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom, 
JThere the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold. 
iBeautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit-trees ■ 
■Jnder the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens 
gending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. 
[They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana." 

: And with these words of cheer they arose and continued their journey 
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon 

Sike a magician extended his golden wand o'er the landscape ; 
winkling vapours arose; and sky and water and forest 
eemed all on lire at the touch, and melted and mingled together, 
tanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of Silver, 
floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motioi [ess water, 
tilled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible -v.. etness. 
Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling 
plowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her. 
Then from a neighbouring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers. 
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, 
shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, 
That the whole air and the Woods and tlu oed silent to listen. 

Plaintive at first were the tones and sad : the 

led the}- to follow or guide the revd of frenzied Bacchantes. 
single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation- 
Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, 
\s when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops 
shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower en the branches. 
with such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emo 
slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through the 

Opclousas, 
|nd through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland, 
Raw the column of smoke that arose from a neighbouring dwelling 5 — 
iounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle. 



ear to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by oaks, from whose 
branches 
garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted, 



i;6 EVANGELINE. 

Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide, 

Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden 

Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms, 

Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers 

Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted together. 

Large and low was the roof ; and on slender columns supported, 

Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda, 

Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it., 

At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden, 

Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual symbol, 

Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals. 

Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine 

Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the house itself was in shadow, - 

And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding 

Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose. 

In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathway 

Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie, 

Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending. 

Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy canvas 

Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics, 

Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grape-vines. 

Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie, 
Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups, 
Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin. 
Broad and brown was the face that from under the Spanish sombrero- 
Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master. 
Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were grazing 
Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapoury freshness 
That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape. 
Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding 
Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded 
Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the evening. 
Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle 
Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of ocean. 
Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed o'er the prairie, 
And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the distance. 
Then, as the herdsman turned to the nouse, through the gate of tlr 

garden 

Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to meet him 
Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement, and forward' 
Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder ; 
When they beheld his face, they recognised Basil the Blacksmith. 
Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden. 



EVANGELINE. i;; 

There in an arbour of roses, with endless question and answer, 
Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces, 
Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful. 
Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not j and now dark doubts and mis- 
givings 
Stole o'er the maiden's heart j and Basil, somewhat embarrassed, 
Broke the silence and said, — " If you came by the Atchafalaya, 
How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's boat on the 
bayous?" 
I Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade passed. 
! Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent, — 
I "Gone? is Gabriel gone?" and, concealing her face on his shoulder, 
I All her o'erburdenecl heart gave way, and she wept and lamented. 
Then the good Basil said — and his voice grew blithe as he said it, — 
"Be of good cheer, my child; it is only to-day he departed. 
Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds and my horses. 
Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit 
Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence. 
Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever, 
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles, 
He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens, 
■Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent him 
[Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards. 
Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains, 
Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the beaver. 
Therefore be of good cheer; we will follow the fugitive lover; 
He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against him. 
Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning 
We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison." 

Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river, 
Some aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the fiddler. 

:^ong under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olympus, 
laving no other care than dispensing music to mortals. 

| Bar renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle. 

1 Long live Michael," they cried, "our brave Acadian minstrel !* 
ts they bore him aloft in triumphal procession; and straightway 

father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man 

jindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured, 
failed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips, 
laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters. 
Hitch they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant blacksmith, 
Ml his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanour; 
|uch they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate, 









I7 8 EVANGELINE. 

And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take; 

them ; . 

Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise. 
Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the airy veranda, 
Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper ot Basil 
Waited his late return j and they rested and feasted together. 

Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended. 
All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape with silver, 
Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; but within doors^ 
Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamp 

light. j 

Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman 
Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion. 
Lighting his pipe, that was tilled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco, 
Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they listened : 
" Welcome once more, my friends, who so long have been friendles 

and homeless, 
Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance than tne ol^ 

one ! 
Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers ; 
Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer. ! 

Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil as a keel through th 

water. 
All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom ; and grass grow 
More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer. 
Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies 5 j 
Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests of timber k 
With a few blows o'f the axe are hewn and framed into houses. 
After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow with harvests^. 
No King George of England shall drive you away from your homestead,, 
Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and yoi 
cattle." : 

Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils, 1, 
And his huge, brawny hand came thundering down on the table, 
So that the guests all started 5 and Father Felician, astounded, 
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to his nostrils. 
But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer 
" Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever ! 
For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, ^ ^ 

Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell ! 
Then there were voices heard at the door, and footsteps approachm 
Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy veranda. 
It was the neighbouring Creoles and small Acadian planters, 



EVANGELINE. 179 

Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil the Herdsman. 
Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neighbours : 
Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who before were as 

strangers, 
Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other, 
Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together. 
But in the neighbouring hall a strain of music, proceeding 
From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddle, 
Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted, 
All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the maddening 
Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music, 
Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. 

Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herds- 
man 
Sat, conversing together of past and present and future ; 
While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her 
Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst ol the va 
Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressibli 
Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the garden. 
Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest, 
■Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the rivet 
Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the 

moonlight, 
Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit. 
Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden 
Poured out their souls in odours, that were their prayers and confessions 
Unto the night, as it went its way, like a .silent Carthusian. 
Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night- 
dews, 
Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight 
Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings, 
ks, through the garden gate, beneath the brown shade of the oak-trees, 
I Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie. 
I silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and tire-flies 
iijleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite numbers. 
3ver her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens, 
shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel and worship, 
mve when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple, 
fVs if a hand had appeared and written upon them, " Upharsin." 
Nnd the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies, 
fVandered alone, and she cried—" O, Gabriel ! O, my beloved ! 
fcrt thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee ! 
pjt thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me ? 



i8o EVANGELINE. 

Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie ! 

Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me ! - 

Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from labour, 

Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers ! 

When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee ?" 

Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill sounded 

Like a flute in the woods $ and anon, through the neighbouring thicket^ 

Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. 

" Patience !" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness ; ^ 

And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, "To-morrow!" 

Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the flowers of the garden 
Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses 
With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of crystal. 
" Farewell !" said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold ; 
" See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine. 
And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was coming.' 
" Farewell !" answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descender 
Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting. 
Thus beginning their journey with morning, and sunshine, and gladness! 
Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them 
Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert. 
Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded, 
Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or river 5 
Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but vague and uncertain" 
Rumours alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country. 
Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, 
Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlorc 
That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions,. 
Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies. 



Far in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains 
Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits. 
Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gateway 
Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's waggon, 
Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee. 
Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river Mountains, 
Through the Sweet- water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska ; 
And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras, 
Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert, 
Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean, 
Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations. 



EVANGELINE. 1S1 

Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies. 
Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine, 
Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas. 
pver them wander the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck ; 
Uver them wander the wolves, and herds of riderless horses ; 
Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel $ 
pver them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children, 
Dtaining the desert with blood ; and above their terrible war trails 
Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture, 
Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle, 
0y invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens. 
Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage marauders ; 
Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers ; 
A.nd the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert, 
Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brook-side ; 
ind over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven, 
L ike the protecting hand of God inverted above them. 

Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains, 
rabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him. 
Jay after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil 
followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'crtake him. 
Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the .smoke of his camp-fire 
lise in the morning air from the distant plain ; but at nightfall, 
Vhen they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes. 
^.nd, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary, 
lope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana 
Ihowed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before 
them. 

Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered 
nto the little camp an Indian woman, whose features 
Vore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow. 
he was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people, 
r rom the far-off hunting grounds of the cruel Camanches, 
Vhere her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, had been murdered, 
touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest 

welcome 

£ave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them 
t)n the buffalo meat and the venison cooked on the embers, 
fut when their meal was done, and Basil and all his companions, 
Vo-rn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, 
tretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering 

fire-light 

" ' Q % 






* 82 EVANGELINE. 

Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in thei: 

blankets, 
Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated 
Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian accent, 
All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses. 
Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another 
Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed. 
Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion, 
Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her, 
She in turn related her love and all its disasters. 
Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended 
Still was mute 5 but at length, as if a mysterious horror 
Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowi 
Mo wis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden, 
But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam, \ 
Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine, 
Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest. 
Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation 
Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom, 
That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hash of the twilights 
Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden. 
Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest, 
And never more returned, nor was seen again by her people. 
Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listened 
To the soft now of her magical words, till the region around her 
Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress/ 
Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose, 
Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendour 
Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland. 
With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches 
Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers. 
Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, but a secret. 
Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, 
As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow. 
It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of spirits 
Seemed to float in the air of night 5 and she felt for a moment 
That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom. 
And with this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had 

vanished. 

Early upon the morrow the march was resumed ; and the Shawnee - 
Said, as they journeyed along, — " On the western slope of these mountains 
Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission. 
Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus 5 



EVANGELINE. 183 

Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear him." 
Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline answered, — 
\ Let us go to the Minion, for there good tidings await us !" 
iThither they turned their steeds ; and behind a spur of the mountains, 
Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of voii \ . 
[And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a river, 
•;Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit Mission. 
(Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, 
Knelt the Black Kobe chief with his children. A crucirix fastened 
High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grape-vines, 
[Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it. 
This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches 
Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, 
Mingling its notes with the soft suuirrus and sighs of the branches. 
Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching, 
Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions. 
But when the service was done, and the benediction had fallen 
Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower, 
Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them 
tVelcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression, 
rlearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest, 
\nd with words of kindness conducted them into his wigwam, 
['here upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-eai 

asted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher. 
Soon was their story told ; and the priest with solemnity answe-ed ■ — 
' Not six. Mins have risen and sel since Gabri< I, seated 
Dn this mat by ray side, where now the maiden reposes, 
Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and continued his journey. 
loft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness j 
Jut on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow-flakes 
all into some lone nest from which the birds have departed. 
Far to the north he has gone," continued the priest • " but in autumn, 
iVhen the chase is done, will return again to the Mission." 
iihen Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, — 
Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted." 
>o seemed it wise and well unto all ; and betimes on the morrow, 
Counting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and companions, 
homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other, — 
t)aysand weeks and months 5 and the fields of maize that were springing 
Jreen from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above her, 
|fteti their slender shafts, withl eaves interlacing, and forming 
Cloisters for mendicant crews and granaries pillaged by squirrels. 



1 84 EVANGELINE. 

Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, arid the maidens 
Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a lover, 
Bat at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the corn-field. 
Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. 
" Patience !" the priest would say; " have faith, and thy prayer will bt 
answered ! 1 

Book at this delicate plant that lifts its head from the meadow, ji 

See how its leaves all point to the north, as true as the magnet 3 
It is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has suspended 
Here on its fragile stalk, to direct the traveller's journey 
Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. 
Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of passion, 
Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, 
But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odour is deadly. 
Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter 
Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepenthe. 

I 
So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter, — yet Gabriel came not 
Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and blue-bir. 
Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. 
But on the breath of the summer winds a rumour was wafted 
Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odour of blossom. 
Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests, 
Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw river. 
And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, 
Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission. 
When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches, 
She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests, 
Found she the hunter's lod^e deserted and fallen to ruin ! 



Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons and places 
Divers and distant far was seen the wandering maiden ; — 
Now in the tents of grace of the meek Moravian Missions, 
Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the army, 
Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous cities. 
Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremembered. 
Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey; 
Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. 
Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty, 
Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and i£te shadow. 
Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of grey e'er her forehea 
Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly hori£5», 
As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the moiULSg. 









EVANGELINE. lg - 



In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters, 
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle. 
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded. 
There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty 
And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of the forest 
As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested. 
There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, 
Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country. ' 
[There old Rene Leblanc had died; and when he departed,' ' 
Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. 
Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city, 
Something that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger- 
And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quak 
For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, 
JVhere all men were equal, and all were I rothers and sisters. 
:!So, when the fruitless search, the dii ivour, 

: Faded, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplaining, 
Thither, a. leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and i.er footsteps. 
As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the morning 
Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape belov 
Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cil 

So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world fir below her, 
Dark no longer, but all illumined with love; and the path 
[Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance. 
iGabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his in 
Clothed in the beauty of love :!!:t! youth, as last she beheld him, 
Only more beautiful niade by ^ deathlike silence and absence. 
Unto her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. 
(Over him years had no power; he was not changed, but transfigured; 
He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent; 
patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, 
this was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. 
|o was her love diffused, but, like t i rous apices, 

iu&ered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma. 
Diher hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow 
Weekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour, 
fhus many years she lived as a Sifter of Mercy ; frequenting 
><>nely and wretched roofs in tl. a crowded lanes of the city, 
Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight, 
Inhere disease and sorrow in garrets languished negk 
Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman 
repeated 



; 



1 86 EVANGELIXE. 

Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city, 
High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper. 
Day after day, in the grey of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs 
Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market, 
Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings. 

Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city, 
Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons, 
Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their craws but ar 

acorn. 
And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, 
Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, 
So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural margin, 
Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of existence. 
Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor j 
But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger ; — 
Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants, 
Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless. 
Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands ; — 
Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its gateway and wicket 
Meek, in the midst of splendour, its humble walls seem to echo 
Softly the words of the Lord — " The poor ye always have with you." 
Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of Mercy. The dying 
Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there 
Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendour, 
Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles, 
Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. 
Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial, 
Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits would enter. 

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent, '_ 
Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. 
Sweet on the summer air was the odour of flowers in the garden ; 
And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them, 
That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty/ 
Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east, 

wind, 
Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ 

Church, 
While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted 
Sounds of psalms, that were sung by ths Swedes in their church at, 

Wicaco. 
Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit ; 
Something within her said — «* At length thy trials are ended 5" 



EVANGELINE. iS; 

And, with Jight in her looks, she entered the chambers of sickness 
Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants, 
Moistening the feverish lip and the aching brow, and in silence 
Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces, 

! Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the road-side. 

j Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, 
Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she' passed, for her 
presence 

. Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. 
And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, 
Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it for ever. ' 
Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night-time j 
Vacant then places were, or filled already by Strangers. 

Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, 
Still she stood, with her colourless lips apart, while a shudder 
!Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her 

fingers, 
And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. 
[hen there escaped from her lips a cry of SUch terrible anguish, 
1 hat the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows.' 
On the pallet before her was stretehed the form of an old man. 

,ong, and thin, and grey were the locks that shaded hi. temples j 
jut, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment 
leemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood- 
Jo are wont to be changed the faces of those * ho are dying. 
lot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever, 
Is if lite, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled it's portals, 
pat the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over, 
lotionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit exhausted 
feemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness, 
darkness of slumber and death, for ever .sinking and sinking. 

'hen through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, 
ieard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded 
[hispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, 

| Gabriel ! O my beloved !" and died away into silence. 

>en he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood ; 

rreen Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, 

ihage, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, walking under their 
shadow, 

I in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision. 

ears came into his eyesj and as slowly he lifted his eyelids, 

lanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. 
||ainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered 



j 88 EVANGELINE. 

Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would I 

have spoken. 
Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, 
Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. 
Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank into darkness, 
As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. 

All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, 
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, 
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! 
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, 
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, " Father, I thank thee !' 



Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, 
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. 
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard, 
In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed. 
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, 
Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and for ever, 
Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, 
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labour 
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey ! 

Still stands the forest primeval 5 but under the shade of its branch' 
Dwells another race, with other customs and language. 
Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic 
Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile 
Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom. 
In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still busy; 
Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun, 
And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's, story, 
While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced neighbouring ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE. 



DEDICATION. 

As one who, walking in the twilight gloom, 
Hears round about him voices as it darkens, 

And seeing not the forms from which they come, 
Pauses from time to time, and turns and hearkens. 

So walking here in twilight, O my friends! 

I hear your voices, softened by the dist 
And pause, and turn to listen, as each sends 

His words of friendship, comfort, and assistance. 

If any thought of mine, or sung or told, 

Has ever given delight or consolation, 

Ye have repaid me back a thousand fold, 

By every friendly -sign and salutation. 

Thanks for the sympathies that ye have shown! 

Thanks for each kindly word. ea< h silent token, 
That teaches me, when Beeming most alone, 

Friends are around us, though no word be spoken. 

Kind messages that pass from land to land; 

Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history, 
In which we feel the pressure of a hand, — 

One touch of lire, — and all the rest is mystery ! 

The pleasant books, that silently among 

Our household treasures take familiar places, 

And are to us as if a living tongue 

Spake from the printed leaves or pictured faces ! 

Perhaps on earth I never shall behold, 

With eye of sense, your outward form and semblance; 
Therefore to me ye never will grow old, 

But live for ever young in my remembrance. 



ipo BY THE SEASIDE. 

Never grow old, nor change, nor pass away 

Your gentle voices will How on for ever, 
When life grows bare and tarnished with decay, 

As through a leafless landscape flows a river. 

Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, 
Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations, 

But the endeavour for the selfsame ends, 

With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations. 

Therefore I hope to join your seaside walk, 
Saddened, and mostly silent, with emotion 5 

Not interrupting with intrusive talk 

The grand, majestic symphonies of ocean. 

Therefore I hope, as no unwelcome guest, 

At your warm fireside, when the lamps are lighted, 

To have my place reserved among the rest, ■ 
Nor stand as one unsought and uninvited ! 



BT THE SEASIDE. 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 

" Build me straight, O worthy Master! 

Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, 
That shall laugh at all disaster, 

And with wave and whirlwind wrestle ! " 

The merchant's word 

Delighted the Master heard 5 

For his heart was in his work, and the heart 

Giveth grace unto every Art. 

A quiet smile played round his lips, 

As the eddies and dimples of the tide 

Play round the bows of ships, 

That steadily at anchor ride. 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. lgi 

And with a voice that was full of glee, 
He answered, " Ere long we will launch 
A vessel as goodly, and strong, and staunch, 
As ever weathered a wintry sea !" 

And first with nicest skill and art, 
Perfect and finished in every part, 
A little model the Master wrought, 
Which should be to the larger plan 
What the child is to the man, 
Its counterpart in miniature; 
That with a hand more swift and sure 
The greater labour might be brought 
To Answer to his inward thought. 
And as he laboured, his mind r:m o'er 
The various ships that were buili of yore, 
And above them all. and strangest of all 

Towered the Great Harry, cranl and tall, 

Whose picture wsj hanging on the wall, 

With bows and stern raised high in air, 

And balconies hanging here and there, 

And signal lanterns and Hags afloat, 

And eight round towers, like those that frown 

From some old castle, looking down 

Upon the drawbridge and the moat 

And he said with a smile, "Our ship, I wis, 

Shall be of another form than this!" 

It was of another form, indi 

Built for freight, and \vt for speed, 

A beautiful and gallant craft j 
Broad in the beam, that the Stress of the bl. 
Pressing down upon sail and mast, 
Might not the .sharp bows overwhelm -, 
Broad in the beam, but sloping aft 
With graceful curve and slow degi 
That she might be docile to the helm, 
And that the currents of parted seas, 
Closing behind, with mighty force, 
Might aid and not impede her course. 

In the ship-yard stood the Master, 

With the model of the vessel, 
That should laugh at all disaster, 

And with wave and whirlwind wrestle ! 



Jp: . BY THE SEASIDE. 

Covering many a rood of ground, 
Lay the timber piled around ; 
Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak, 
And scattered here and there, with these, 
The knarred and crooked cedar knees ; 
Brought from regions far away, 
From Pascagoula's sunny bay, 
And the banks of the roaring Roanoke ! 
Ah ! what a wondrous thing it is 
To note how many wheels of toil 
One thought, one word, can set in motion .' 
There's not a ship that sails the ocean, 
But every climate, every soil, 
Must bring its tribute, great or small, 
And help to build the wooden wall I 

The sun was rising o'er the sea, 
And long the level shadows lay, 
As if they, too, the beams would be 
Of some great, airy argosy, 
Framed and launched in a single day. 
That silent architect, the sun, 
Had hewn and laid them every one, 
Ere the work of man was yet begun. 
Beside the Master, when he spoke, 
A youth, against an anchor leaning, 
Listened to catch his slightest meaning. 
Only the long waves, as they broke 
In ripples on the pebbly beach, 
Interrupted the old man's speech. 

Beautiful they were, in sooth, 

The old man and the fiery youth ! 

The old man, in whose busy brain 

Many a ship that sailed the main 

Was modelled o'er and o'er again ; — 

The fiery youth, who was to be 

The heir of his dexterity, 

The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand, 

When he had built and launched from land 

What the elder head had planned. 

"Thus," said he, "will we build this ship! 
Lay square the blocks upon the slip, 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP, 193 

A.nd follow well this plan of mine. 
Choose the timbers with greatest care ; 
Of all that is unsound beware ; 
For only what is sound and strong 
To this vessel shall belong. 
Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine 
Here together shall combine. 
A goodly frame, and a goodly fame, 
And the Union be her name! 
For the day that gives her to the sea 
Shall give my daughter unto thee !" 

The Master's word 

Enraptured the young man heard j 

And as he turned his face aside, 

With a look of joy and a thrill o( pride, 

Standing before 

1 [er father's door, 

He saw the form of his promised bride. 

The sun shone on her golden hair, 

And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair, 

With the breath of morn and the suit sea air 

Like- a beauteous barge was she, 

Still at rest OD the sandy beach, 

Just beyond the bilious reach ; 

But he, 

Was the restless, seething, stormy sea! 

Ah, how skilful grows the hand 
That obeyeth Love's command ! 
It is the heart, and not the brain, 
That to the highest doth attain, 
And he who followeth Love's behest 
Far exceedeth all the rest ! 

Thus with the rising of the sun 

Was the noble task begun, 

And soon throughout the ship-yard's bounds 

Were heard the intermingled sounds 

Of axes and of mallets, plied 

With vigorous arms on every side; 

Plied so deftly and so we'll, 

That ere the shadows of evening fell, 

The keel of oak for a noble ship, 



194 &y THE SEASIDE. 

Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong, 
Was lying ready, and stretched along 
The blocks, well placed upon the slip. 
Happy, thrice happy, every one 
Who sees his labour well begun, 
And not perplexed and multiplied, 
By idly waiting for time and tide ! 

And when the hot, long day was o'er, 

The young man at the Master's door 

Sat with the maiden calm and still. 

And within the porch, a little more 

Removed beyond the evening chill, 

The father sat, and told them tales 

Of wrecks in the great September gales, 

Of pirates upon the Spanish Main, 

And ships that never came back again, 

The chance and change of a sailor's life, 

Want and plenty, rest and strife, 

His roving fancy, like the wind, 

That nothing can stay and nothing can bind, 

And the magic charm of foreign lands, 

With shadows of palms, and shining sands, 

Where the tumbling surf, 

O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar, 

Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, 

As he lies alone and asleep on the turf. 

And the trembling maiden held her breath 

At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea, 

With all its terror and mystery, 

The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death, 

That divides and yet unites mankind ! 

And whenever the old man paused, a gleam 

From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume 

The silent group in the twilight gloom, 

And thoughtful faces, as in a dream ; 

And for a moment one might mark 

What had been hidden by the dark, 

That the head of the maiden lay at rest; 

Tenderly, on the young man's breast ! 

Day by day the vessel grew, 
With timbers fashioned strong and true, 
Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee, 
Till, framed with perfect symmetry, 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 195 

A skeleton ship rose up to view ! 
And around the bows and along the side 
The heavy hammers and mallets plied, 
Till alu-r many a week, at length, 
Wonderful tor torm and strength, 
Sublime in its enormous bulk. 
Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk ! 
And around it columns or' smoke, upwreathing, 

from the boiling, bubbling, seething 
Caldron, that glowed, 
And overflowed 

With the black tar, heated for the sheathing. 
And amid the clamours 
( )f clattering hammer-, 
lie who Listened heard now and then 
The song of the Master and his men : — 

"Build me straight, O worthy -M 

Staunch and sti :!;. Vi SM i. 

That shall laugh at all disaster, 

And with wave ami whirlwind wrestle!* 1 

With oaken brace and copper band, 

Lav the rudder on the 

That, like a thought, should have control 

Over the movement of the whole; 

And near it the anchor, whose, giant hand 

Would reach down and grapple with the land, 

And immo\ able and fast 

Kold the urr.it ship against the bellowing blast ! 

And at the DOWS an image Mood, 

By a cunn irved in wo 

With robes of white, that far behind 
Seemed to be fluttering in the wind. 

It was not shaped in a classic mould, 
\'ot Ike- a Nymph or poddess of old, 
Or Naiad rising from the water, 
But modelled from th< daughter! 

On many a drearv and misty night, 
'Twill be seen by the rays of the signal light, 
rig along through the rain and the dark, 
1 ghost in its snow-white ^ark, 
The pilot of some phantom bark, 
Guiding the vessel, in its fli 
By a path none other knows aright ! 



i 9 6 BY THE SEASIDE. y 

Behold, at last, 
Each tall and tapering mast 
Is swung into its place -, 
Shrouds and stays 
Holding it firm and fast ! 

Long ago, 

In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, 

When upon mountain and plain 

Lay the snow, 

They fell, — those lordly pines ! 

Those grand, majestic pines ! 

'Mid shouts and cheers 

The jaded steers, 

Panting beneath the goad, 

Dragged down the weary, winding road 

Those captive kings so straight and tall, 

To be shorn of their streaming hair, 

And, naked and bare, 

To feel the stress and the strain 

Of the wind and the reeling main, 

Whose roar 

Would remind them for evermore 

Of their native forests they should not see again. 

And everywhere 

The slender, graceful spars 

Poise aloft in the air, 

And at the mast head, 

White, blue, and red, 

A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. 

Ah ! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless, 

In foreign harbours shall behold 

That flag unrolled, 

'Twill be as a friendly hand 

Stretched out from his native land, 

Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless. 

All is finished ! and at length 

Has come the bridal day 

Of beauty and of strength. 

To-day the vessel shall be launched ! 

With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched, 

And o'er the bay, 

Slowly, in all his splendours dight, 

The great sun rises to behold the sight. 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP i 97 

The ocean old, 
Centuries old, 

Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, 
Paces restless to and tro, 
Up and down the sands of gold. 
His beating heart is not at rest ; 
And far and wide, 
With ceaseless flow, 
His beard of snow 
Heaves with the heaving of his breast. 

He waits impatient for his bride. 

There she stands, 

With her foot upon the sands, 

Decked with nags and streamers gay, 

In honour of her marriage day, 

Her Bnow-white signals fluttering, blending, 

Round her like a veil descending, 

Heady to be 

The bride of the grey, old sea. 

On the deck another bride 
Is standing by her lover's side. 
Shadows from the flags and shrouds. 
Like the shadows cast by clouds, 
Broken by many a sunny fleck, 
Fall around them on the deck. 

The prayer is said, 

The serviee read, 

The joyous bridegroom bows his head, 

And in tears the good old Master 

Shakes the brown hand of his son, 

Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek 

In silence, for he cannot speak, 

And ever faster 

Down his own the tears begin to run. 

The worthy pastor — 

The shepherd of that wandering flock, 

That has the ocean for its wold, 

That has the vessel for its fold, 

Leaping ever from rock to rock — 

Spake, with accents mild and clear, 

Words of warning, words of cheer, 

But tedious to the bridegroom's ( 



j 9 S BY THE SEASIDE. 

He knew the chart, 

Of the sailor's heart, 

All its pleasures and ics griefs, 

All its shallows and rocky reefs, 

All those secret currents, that flow 

With such resistless undertow 

And lift and drift, with terrible force, 

The will from its moorings and its course. 

Therefore he spake, and thus said he : — 

" Like unto ships far off at sea, 

Outward or homeward bound, are we. 

Before, behind, and all around, 

Floats and swings the horizon's bound, 

Seems at its distant rim to rise 

And climb the crystal wall of the skies, 

And then again to turn and sink, 

As if we could slide from its outer brink. 

Ah ! it is not the sea, 

Tt is not the sea that sinks and shelves, 

But ourselves 

That rock and rise 

With endless and uneasy motion, 

Now touching the very skies, 

Now sinking into the depths of ocean. 

Ah ! if our souls but poise and swing 

Like the compass in its brazen ring, 

Ever level and ever true 

To the toil and the task we have to do, 

We shall sail securely, and safely reach 

The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach 

The sights we see, and the sounds we hear, 

Will be those of joy and not of fear !" 

Then the Master, 
With a gesture of command, 
Waved his hand j 
And at the word, 
Loud and sudden there was heard, 
AJ1 around them and below, 
The sound of hammers, blow on blow, 
Knocking away the shores and spurs. 
And see ! she stirs ' 

She starts, — she moves, — she seems to feel 
The thrill of life along her keel, 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 199 

And, spurning- with her toot the ground, 
With one exulting, joyous bound, 
She leaps into the ocean's arms ! 

And lo ! from the assembled crowd 
There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, 
That to the ocean seemed to say, — 

" Take her, O bridegroom, old and grey, 

Take her to thy protecting arms, 

With all her youth and all her charms ! ' 

How beautiful she is ! How fair 
She lies within tho.->e amis lhat pi 
Her form with many a 906 1 

Of tenderness and wat< hful 

Sail forth into the sea, o ship ! 

Through wind and wave, right onward steer 

The moistened eye, the trenfblmg lip, 

Are not the signs of doubt or fear. 
Sail forth into the >ea of life, 

( I entle, loi ing, trusting w 

And sate from all ad\ ersity 

Upon the bosom of that sea 
Thy comings and thy goings be ! 

For gentleness and love and trust 
Prevail o'er angry wave ami gust • 
And in the u reck "t noble ' 
Something immortal still sue. 

Thou, too, sail on, () Ship of" State ! 
Sail on, () Union, strong and great! 
Humanity with all its S 
With all the hopes of future years, 
Is hanging breathless on thy fate! 
We know what Master laid tin keel. 
What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, 
Who made eaeh mast, and sail, and rope, 
What anvils rang, what hammers beat, 
I11 what a forge and what a heat 
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! 
Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 
Tis of the wave and not the rock ; 
'Tis but toe flapping of the sail, 
And not a rent made by the gale ! 



BY THE SEASIDE. 
In spite of rock and tempest's roar, 
In spite of false lights on the shore, 
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, 
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 
Are all with thee, — are all with thee ! 



THE EVENING STAR. 

i 
Just above yon sandy bar, 

As the day grows fainter and dimmer, 
Lonely and lovely, a single star 

Lights the air with a dusky glimmer. 

Into the ocean faint and far 

Falls the trail of its golden splendour, 
And the gleam of that single star 

Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender. 

Chrysaor rising out of the sea, 

Showed thus glorious and thus emulous, 
Leaving the arms of Callirrhoe, 

For ever tender, soft, and tremulous. 

Thus o'er the ocean faint and far 

Trailed the gleam of his falchion brightly. 

Is it a God or is it a star 

That, entranced, I gaze on nightly ! 



THE SECRET OF THE SEA. 

Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me 

As I gaze upon the sea ! 
All the old romantic legends, 

All my dreams, come back to me. 

Sails of silk and ropes of sendal, 
Such as gleam in ancient lore ; 

And the singing of the sailors 
And the answer from the shore ! 



TWILIGHT. 
Most cf all, the Spanish baliad 

Haunts me oft, and tarries long, 
Of the noble Count Arnaldos 

And the sailor's mystic song. 

Like the long waves on a sea-beach, 

Where the sand as silver shines, 
With a soft monotonous cadence, 

Flow its unrhymed lyric lines j — 

Telling how the Count Arnaldos, 

With his hawk upon his hand, 
Saw a fair and stately galley, 

Steering onward to the land ; — 

How he heard the ancient helmsman 

Chant a song so wild and clear, 
That the sailing sea-bird slowly 

Poised upon the mast to hear, 

Till his soul was full of longing, 

Ami he cried with impulse strong, — 
" Helmsman ! for the love of heaven, 

Teach me, too, that wondrous song !" 

"Wouldst thou/' so the helmsman answered, 
" Learn the secrets of the sea > 

Only tho>e who brave its dangers 
Comprehend its mystery!" 

In each sail that skim-, the horizon, 
In each landward-blowing breeze, 

I behold that stately galley, 

Hear those mournful melodic-. ; 

Till my soul is full of longing 

Lor the secret of the sea, 
And the heart of the great ocean 

Sends a thrilling puLe through me. 



TWILIGHT. 

The twilight is sad and cloudy, 
The wind blows wild and free, 

And like the wings of sea-birds 
Flash the white caps of the sea. 



BY THE SEASIDE. 
But in the fisherman's cottage 

There shines a ruddier light, 
And a little face at the window 

Peers out into the night. 

Close, close it is pressed to the window, 

As if those childish eyes 
Were looking into the darkness, 

To see some form arise. 

And a woman's waving shadow 

Is passing to and fro, 
Now rising to the ceiling, 

Now bowing and bending iow. 

What tale do the roaring ocean, 

And the night- wind, bleak and wild 

As they beat at the crazy casement, 
Tell to that little child ? 

And why do the roaring ocean, 

And the night-wind, wild and bleak, 

As they beat at the heart of the mother, 
Drive the colour from her cheek ? 



SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. 

Southward with fleet of ice 

Sailed the corsair Death 5 
Wild and fast blew the blast, 

And the east- wind was his breath. 

His lordly ships of ice 

Glistened in the sun ; 
On each side, like pennons wide, 

Flashing crystal streamlets run. 

His sails of white sea mist 

Dripped with silver rain ; 
But where he passed there were cast 

Leaden shadows o'er the main. 

Eastward from Campobello 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed ; 

Three days or more seaward he bore, 
Then, alas ! the land-wind^failed. 



i THE LIGHTHOUSE. 203 

Alas, the land-wind failed, 

And ice-cold grew the night; 
And never more, on sea or shore, 

Should Sir Humphrey see the light. 

He vie upon the deck, 

1 lie Book was in his hand ; 
"Do not fear! Heaven is as near," 

ik said, " by water as by land !" 

In the first watch of the night, 
Without a signal's sound 

Out of the sea, mysteriously. 

The fleet of Death rose all around. 

The moon and the evening star 

Were hanging in the shrouds 

Every mast, ai it passed, 

ned to rake the passing clouds. 

They grappled with their prize, 

At midnight black and cold! 
As of a roek was the- shock; 

Heavily the ground-swell rolled. 

Southward through day and dark, 
They drift in close embrace, 

With mist and rain to the Spanish Main, 
Yet there seems no change of place. 

Southward, for ever southward. 

They drift through dark and day ; 
And like a dream in the Gulf-Stream 

Sinking, vanish all away. 



THE LIGHTHOUSE. 

The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, 
And on its outer point, some miles away, 

The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, 
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. 



204 



BY THE SEASIDE. 
Even at this distance I can see the tides, 

Upheaving, break unheard along its base, 
A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides 

In the white lip and tremor of the face. 

And as the evening darkens, lo ! how bright, 
Through the deep purple of the twilight air, 

Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light 
With strange, unearthly splendour in its glare ! 

Not one alone ; from each projecting cape 
And perilous reef along the ocean's verge, 

Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape, 

Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. 

Like the great giant Christopher it stands 
Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave, 

Wading far out among the rocks and sands, 
The night-o'ertaken mariner to save. 

And the great ships sail outward and return, 
Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells, 

And ever joyful as they see it burn, 

They wave their silent welcomes and farewells. 

They come forth from the darkness > and their sails 
Gleam for a moment only in the blaze, 

And eager faces, as the light unveils, 

Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze. 

The mariner remembers when a child, 

On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink j 

And when, returning from adventures wild, 
He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink. 

Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same 

Year after year, through all the silent night, 

Burns on for evermore that quenchless flame, 
Shines on that inextinguishable light ! 

It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp 

The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace 5 
It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp, 

And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece. 



THE FIRE OF DRIFTWOOD. 
The startled waves leap over it ; the storm 

Smites it with all the scourges of the rain, 
And steadily against its solid form 

Press the great shoulders of the hurricane. 

The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din 
Of wings and winds and solitary cries, 

Blinded and maddened by the light within, 
Dashes himself against the glare, and dies. 

A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock, 
Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove, 

It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock, 
But hails the mariner with words of love. 

" Sail on !" it says, "sail on, ye stately ships! 

And with your Boating bridge the ocean span j 
Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse, 

Be yours to bring man nearer unto man !" 



20 5 



THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. 

We sat within the farm-house old, 

Whose window^ looking o'er the bay, 

Grave to the Bea-breeze, damp and cold, 
An easy entrance, night and day. 

Not far away we saw the port, — 

The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, — 

The light-house, the dismantled fort, — ■ 
The wooden houses, quaint and brown. 

We sat and talked until the night, 
Descending, tilled the little room j 

Our faces faded from the sight, 
Our voices only broke the gloom. 

We spake of many a vanished scene, 
Of what we once had thought and said, 

Of what had been, and might have been, 
And who was changed, and who was dead ; 



2o6 BY THE SEASIDE, 

And all that fills the hearts of friends, 

When first they feel with secret pain, 
Their lives thenceforth have separate ends, 

And never can be one again 5 

The first slight swerving of the heart, 
That words are powerless to express, 

And leave it still unsaid in part, 
Or say it in too great excess. 

The very tones in which we spake 

Had something strange, I could but mark; 

The leaves of memory seemed to make 
A mournful rustling in the dark. 

Oft died the words upon our lips, 

As suddenly, from out the fire 
Built of the wreck of stranded ships, 

The flames would leap and then expire. 

And, as their splendour flashed and failed, 
We thought of wrecks upon the main, — - 

Of ships dismasted, that were hailed 
And sent no answer back again. 

The windows, rattling in their frames, — 
The ocean, roaring up the beach, — 

The gusty blast, — the bickering flames, — ■ 
All mingled vaguely in our speech ; 

Until they made themselves a part 

Of fancies floating through the braii^ — 

The long-lost ventures of the heart, 
That send no answers back again. 

O flames that glowed ! O hearts that yearned ! 

They were indeed too much akin, 
The drift-wood fire without that burned, 

The thoughts that burned and glowed within. 



RESIGNATION. 207 

BT THE FIRESIDE. 



RESIGNATION. 

There is no flock, however watched and tended, 

But one dead lamb is there ! 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 

But has one vacant chair! 

The air is hill of farewells to the dying, 

And mournings for the dead ; 
The heart oi Rachel, for her children crying, 

Will not be comforted ! 

Let us be patient ! T! afflictions 

\<>t from the ground arise, 
But oftentimes celestial benedictii 

me this dark disguise. 

We see but dimly through the mists and va] 

Amid these earthly damps, 
What seem to us but sad, funen 
May be heaven's distant lamps. 

There is no Death ! What seem- bo is transition. 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 

Whose portal we cadi Death. 

She is not dead, — the child of our affection, — 

But gone unto that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor protection, 

And Christ himself doth rule. 

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, 

By guardian angels led, 
Sate from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, 

She lives, whom we call dead. 

Day after day we think what she is doing 

In those bright realm- of air ; 
Year after year her tender steps pursuing, 

Behold her grown more fair. 



208 BY THE FIRESIDE. 

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken 

The bond which nature gives, 
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, 
May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again behold her $ 

For when with raptures wild 
In our embraces we again enfold her, 

She will not be a child 5 

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, 

Clothed with celestial grace 5 
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion 

Shall we behold her face. 

And though at times impetuous with emotion 

And anguish long suppressed, 
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, 

That cannot be at rest, — 

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling 

We may not wholly stay ; 
By silence sanctifying, not concealing, 

The grief that must have way. 



THE BUILDERS. 

All are architects of Fate, 

Working in these walls of Time ; 

.Some with massive deeds and great, 
Some with ornaments of rhyme. 

Nothing useless is, or low; 

Each thing in its place is best $ 
And what seems but idle show, 

Strengthens and supports the rest. 

For the structure that we raise, 
Time is with materials filled -, 

Our to-days and yesterdays 

Are the blocks with which we build. 



THE BUILDERS. 
Truly shape and fashion these j 

Leave no yawning gaps between ; 
Think not, because no man sees, 

Such things will remain unseen.. 

In the elder days of Art, 

Builders wrought with greatest care 
Each minute and unseen part ; 

For the Gods see everywhere. 

Let us do our work as well, 

Both the unseen and the seen ; 

Make the house, where Gods may dwell, 
Beautiful, entire, and clean. 

Else our lives are incomplete, 

Standing in these walla of Time, 
Broken stairways, where the feet 

Stumble as they seek to climb. 

Build to-day, then, strong and sure, 

With a linn and ample base ; 
And ascending and n i ore 

Shall to-morrow find its place. 

Thus alone can we attain 

To those turrets, where the eve 

Sees the world as one vast plain, 
And one boundless reach of bky. 



SAND OF THE DESERT IN AN HOUR-GLASS. 

A handful of red sand, from the hot clime 

Of Arab deserts brought, 
Within this glass becomes the spy of Time, 

The minister of Thought. 

How many weary centuries has it been 

About those deserts blown ! 
How many strange vicissitudes has seen, 

How many histories known ! 



BY THE FIRESIDE. 
Perhaps the camels of the Ishmaelite 

Trampled and passed it o'er, 
When into Egypt from the patriarch's sight 

His favourite son they bore. 

Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt and bare, 
Crushed it beneath their tread ; 

Or Pharaoh's flashing wheels into the air 
Scattered it as they sped j 

Or Mary, with the Christ of Nazareth 

Held close in her caress, 
Whose pilgrimage of hope and love and faith 

Illumed the wilderness ; 

Or anchorites beneath Engaddi's palms 

Pacing the Dead Sea beach, 
And singing slow their old Armenian psalms 

In half-articulate speech ; 

Or caravans, that from Bassora's gate 

With westward steps depart ; 
Or Mecca's pilgrims, confident of Fate, 

And resolute in heart ! 

These have passed over it, or may have passed ! 

Now in this crystal tower 
Imprisoned by some curious hand at last, 

It counts the passing hour. 

And as I gaze, these narrow walls expand j— 

Before my dreamy eye 
Stretches the desert with its shifting sand, 

Its unimpeded sky. 

And borne aloft by the sustaining blast, 

This little golden thread 
Dilates into a column high and vast, 

A form of fear and dread. 

And onward, and across the setting sun, 

Across the boundless plain, 
The column and its broader shadow ran. 

Till thought pursues in vain. 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 
The vision vanishes ! These walls again 

Shut out the lurid sun, 
Shut out the hot immeasurable plain, 

The half-hoar's band is ran ! 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

Blai . fall 

From the lindens tall, 
Thai lift aloft their massive wall 
Against the southern sky; 

And from the realms 
Of the shadowy elms 
A tide-like darkness overwhelms 
The fields that round us lie, 

But the night is I 
And i | 

A wai »ur fills the air, 

And distant sounds seem near; 

And above, in the light 
Of the star-lit night, 

bird-, of p.: their flight 

Through the dewy atmosphere. 

I hear the beat 
Of their pinions fleet, 
As from the land of snow and sleet 
They seek a southern lea. 

I hear the cry 
Of their voices high 
Falling dreamily through the sky, 
But their forms I cannot see. 

O, say not so ! 
Those sounds that flow 
In murmurs of delight and woe 
Come not from wings of birds. 



BY THE FIRESIDE. 
They are the throngs 
Of the poet's songs, 

Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and wrongs, 
The sounds of winged words. 

This is the cry 
Of souls, that high 
On toiling, beating pinions, fly, 
Seeking a warmer clime. 

From their distant flight 
Through realms of light 
It falls into our world of night, 

With the murmuring sound of rhyme. 



THE OPEN WINDOW. 

The old house by the lindens 
Stood silent in the shade, 

And on the gravelled pathway 
The light and shadow played. 

I saw the nursery windows 

Wide open to the air 5 
But the faces of the children, 

They were no longer there. 

The large Newfoundland house-dog 
Was standing by the door ; 

He looked for his little playmates, 
Who would return no more. 

They walked not under the lindens, 
They played not in the hall; 

But shadow, and silence, and sadness 
Were hanging over all. 

The birds sang in the branches, 
With sweet, familiar tone ; 

But the voices of the children 
Will be heard in dreams alone ! 



KING WITLAF'S DRINKING-HORN. 
And the boy that walked beside me, 

He could not understand 
Why closer in mine, ah ! closer, 
I pressed his warm, soft hand ! 



KING WITLAF'S DRINKING-HORN. 

Witlai-', a king of the Saxons, 
Ere yet his last he breathed, 

To the merry monks of Croyland 
His drinking horn bequeathed, — 

That, whenever they sat at their revels* 

And drank from the golden bowl, 
They might remember the- donor, 
And breathe a prayer for his BOtll. 

So sat they onee at Christ 

And bade the goblet ; 
In their beards the red wine glistened 

Like dew-drops in the 

They drank to the soul ofWitlaf, 
Tiny drank to Christ the Lord, 

And to each of the Twelve Apostles, 
Who had preached his holy word. 

They drank to the Saints and Martyrs 
Oi" the dismal days of yore, 

And as soon as the horn was empty 
They remembered one Saint more. 

And the reader droned from the pulpit, 
Like the murmur of many bees. 

The legend of good Saint Guthlac, 
And St. Basil's homilies; 

Till the great bells of the convent, 
From their prison in the tower, 

Guthlac and Bartholomaeus, 
Proclaimed the midnight hour. 



2T 4 



BY THE FIRESIDE. 
And the Yule-log cracked in the chimney. 

And the Abbot bowed his head. 
And the flamelets flapped and flickered, 

But the Abbot was stark and dead. 

Yet still in his pallid fingers 
He clutched the golden bowl 5 

In which, like a pearl dissolving, 
Had sunk and dissolved his soul. 

Bat not for this their revels 

The jovial monks forbore, 
For they cried, <c Fill high the goblet ! 

We must drink to one Saint more ! " 



CASPAR BECERRA. 

By his evening fire the artist 
Pondered o'er his secret shame; 

Baffled, wear}", and disheartened, 

Still he mused, and dreamed of fame. 

Twas an image of the Virgin 
That had tasked his utmost skill ; 

But alas ! his fair ideal 

Vanished and escaped him still. 

From a distant Eastern island 

Had the precious wood been brought 5 
Day and night the anxious master 

At his toil untiring wrought j 

Till, discouraged and desponding, 

Sat he now in shadows deep, 
And the day's humiliation 

Found oblivion in sleep. 

Then a voice cried, " Rise, O Master ! 

From the burning brand of oak 
Shape the thought that stirs within thee!" 

And the startled artist woke, — 



S IN POUND. 

Woke, and from the smoking embers 
Seized and quenched the glowing wood j 

And therefrom he carved an image, 
And he saw that it was good. 

O thou sculptor, painter, poet ! 

Take this lesson to thy heart : 
That is best which licth nearest | 

Shape from that thy work of art. 



PEGASUS IN POUND. 

Once into a quiet village, 

Without haste and without heed, 

111 the golden prime of morning, 
Strayed the poet's winged Si 

It was Autumn, and incessant 

Piped the quails from bucks ami sheaves 
And, like living coal-, the apples 

Burned among the withering leaves. 

Loud the clamorous bell was ringing 
From its belfry gaunt and grim; 

'Twas the daily call to labour, 
Not a triumph meant lor him. 

Not the less he saw the landscape, 

In its gleaming vapour veiled ; 
Not the less he breathed the odours 

That the dying leaves exhaled. 

Thus, upon the village common, 
By the school-boys he was found ; 

And the wise men, in their wisdom, 
Put him straightway into pound. 

Then the sombre village crier, 

Ringing loud his brazen bell, 
Wandered down the street proclai: 

There was an estray I 



3i6 BY THE FIRESIDE. 

And the curious country people, 

Rich and poor, and young and old. 
Came in haste to see this wondrous 

Winged steed, with mane of gold. 

Thus the day passed, and the evening 
Fell, with vapours cold and dim 3 

But it brought no food nor shelter, 
Brought no straw nor stall, for him. 

Patiently, and still expectant, 

Looked he through the wooden bars, 

Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape, 
Saw the tranquil, patient stars ; 

Till at length the bell at midnight 
Sounded from its dark abode, 

And, from out a neighbouring farm -yard 
Loud the cock Alectryon crowed. 

Then, with nostrils wide distended, 
Breaking from his iron chain, 

And unfolding far his pinions, 
To those stars he soared again. 

On the morrow, when the village 
Woke to all its toil and care, 

Lo ! the strange steed had departed, 
And they knew not when nor where. 

But they found, upon the greensward 
Where his struggling hoofs had trod, 

Pure and bright, a fountain flowing 
From the hoof-marks in the sod. 

From that hour, the fount unfailing 
I Gladdens the whole region round, 

Strengthening all who drink its waters, 
While it soothes them with its sound. 



TEGNER'S DRAPA. 

I heard a voice that cried, 

<<r Balder the Beautiful 
J* dead, is dead i " 



TEGNER'S DRAPA. 
And through the misty air 
Passed like the mournful cry 
Of sunward sailing cranes. 

I saw the pallid corpse 

Of the dead sun 

Borne through the Northern sky. 

Blasts from Niffelheim 

Lifted the sheeted mists 

Around him as he passed. 

And the voice for ever cried, 
" Balder the Beautiful 

Is dead, is dead ! " 
And died away 
Through the dreary night, 
In accents of despair. 

Balder the Beautiful, 
God of the summer sun, 
Fairest of all the Gods '. 

Light from his forehead beamed, 
Runes were upon his tongue, 
As on the warriors sword. 

All things in earth and air 
Bound were by magic spell 
Never to do him harm ; 
Even the plants and .stones; 
All save the misletoe, 
The sacred misletoe ! 

Hoeder, the blind old God, 
Whose feet are shod with silence, 
Pierced through that gentle breast 
With his sharp spear, by fraud 
Made of the misletoe, 
The accursed misletoe ! 

They laid him in his ship, 
With horse and harness, 
As on a funeral pyre. 
Odin placed 
A ring upon his finger, 
And whispered in his ear. 



218 BY THE FIRESIDE. 

They launched the burning ship ! 
It floated far away- 
Over the misty sea, 
Till like the sun it seemed, 
Sinking beneath the waves. 
Balder returned no more ! 

So perish the old Gods ! 
But out of the sea of Time 
Rises a new land of song, 
Fairer than the old. 
Over its meadows green 
Walk the young bards and sing. 

Build it again 

O ye bards, 

Fairer than before ! 

Ye fathers of the new race, 

Feed upon morning dew, 

Sing the new Song of Love ! 

The law of force is dead ! 
The law of love prevails ! 
Thor, the thunderer, 
Shall rule the earth no more, 
No more, with threats, 
Challenge the meek Christ. 

Sing no more, 
O ye bards of the North, 
Of Vikings and of Jarls ! 
Of the days of Eld 
Preserve the freedom only 
Not the deeds of blood. 



SONNET. 

ON MRS. KEMBLE'S READINGS FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

O precious evenings ! all too swiftly sped ! 
Leaving us heirs to amplest heritages 
Of all the best thoughts of the greatest sages, 
And giving tongues unto the silent dead ! 



THE SINGERS. 219 

How our hearts glowed and trembled as she read, 
Interpreting by tones the wondrous pages 
Of the great poet v. foreruns the ages, 
Anticipating all that .shall be said ' 
O happy Reader ! having tor thy text 
The magic book. >ylline leaves have caught 

The . -:il human thought ! 

O happy Poet ! by no critic \ 
How must thy listening spirit now rejoice 
To be interpreted by such a voice ! 



THE SINGERS. 

(ion sent his Sin 1 irth 

With songs of mirth, 

Thai they mighl touch the h arts of men, 

And bring them back to heaven again. 

The first, a youth, with Mini of lire, 

Held in his hand a golden lyre j 

Through groves be wandered, and by streams, 

Playing the music of our dreams. 

The second, with a bearded . 
Stood singing in the market-place, 
And stirred with accents deep and loud 
The hearts pf all tfre listening croud. 

A grey old man, the third and last, 
Bang in cathedrals dim and vast, 

While the majestic organ rolled 
Contrition from its mouths of gold. 

And those who heard the Singers three, 
Disputed which the best might be; 
For still their music seemed to start 
Discordant echoes in each heart. 

But the great Master said, " I see 

No best in kind, but in degree 5 

1 gave a various giit to each, 

To charm, to strengthen, and to teach. 



BY THE FIRESIDE. 
" These are the three great chords of might, 
And he whose ear is tuned aright 
"Will hear no discord in the three, 
But the most perfect harmony." 



SUSPIRIA. 

Take them, O Death ! and bear away- 
Whatever thou canst call thine own ! 

Thine image stamped upon this clay, 
Doth give thee that, but that alone ! 

Take them, O Grave ! and let them lie 
Folded upon thy narrow shelves, 

As garments by the soul laid by, 
And precious only to ourselves ! 

Take them, O great Eternity ! 

Our little life is but a gust, 
That bends the branches of thy tree, 

And trails its blossoms in the dust. 



HYMN. 

FOR MY BROTHER'S ORDINATION. 

Christ to the young man said : "Yet one thing more j 

If thou wouldst perfect be, 
Sell all thou hast and give it to the poor, 

And come and follow me ! " 

Within this temple Christ again, unseen, 

Those sacred words hath said, 
And his invisible hands to-day have been 

Laid on a young man's head. 

And evermore beside him on his way 

The unseen Christ shall move, 
That he may lean upon his arm and say, 

"Dost thou, dear Lord, approve?" 



HYMN FOR MY BROTHER'S ORDINATION. 
Beside him at the marriage feast shall be, 

To make the scene more fair j 

Beside him in the dark Gethsemane 

Of pain and midnight prayer. 

O holy trust ! O endless sense of rest ' 

Like the beloved John 
To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, 
And thus to journey on ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



[Named after the old Legenda Aurea, the Golden Legend of the thirteenth 
century, written by Jacobus de Voragine, a Dominican friar, who afterwards 
became Archbishop of Genoa. He died in 1292. The story is told, and perhaps 
invented, by Hartmann von der Aue, a Minnesinger of the twelfth century. 
The original may be found in Mailatrr's Alt deutsche Gedichte, with a modern 
German version. There is another in Marbach's Folksbiicher, No. 32.] 



PROLOGUE. 

The Spire of Strasburg Cathedral. Night and storm. Lucifer, with the 
Powers of the Air, trying to tear down the Cross. 

Lucifer. Hasten ! hasten ! 
O ye spirits ! 

From its station drag the ponderous 
Cross of iron, that to mock us 
Is uplifted high in air ! 

Voices. O, we cannot . 
For around it 

All the saints and guardian angels 
Throng in legions to protect it^ 
They defeat us everywhere ! 

The Bells. 
Laudo Deum verum ! 
Plebem voco ! 
Congrego clerum ! 

Lucifer. Lower! lower! 
Hover downward ! 
Seize the loud vociferous bells, and 
Clashing, clanging, to the pavement 
Hurl them from their windy tower 

Voices. All thy thunders 
Here are harmless ! 
For these bells have been anointed, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 2*3 

And baptized with holy water! 
They deiy our utmost power. 

The Bells. 
Defunctos ploro ! 
Pestem fugo ! 
Festa decoro ! 

Lucifer. Shake the casements ! 
Break the painted 

Panes, that flame with gold and crimson : 
Scatter them like leaves of Autumn, 
Swept away before the blast ! 

Voices. Oh, we cannot 
The Archangel 
Michael flames from every window, 

With the sword of fire that drove 

Headlong, out of heaven, aghast ! 

The lit Us. 
Funera plangn ! 
Fulgura rrango ! 

Sabb. ; 

Lucifer. Aim your lightn:: 
At the oaken, 

Massive, iron-studded portals! 

Sack the house of God, and scatter 
Wide the ashes of the dead ! 

/ bices. Oh, we cannot ! 
The Apostles 

And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles, 
Stand as warders at the entrance, 
Stand as sentinels o'erhead ! 

The Bells. 
Excito lentos ! 
Dissipo ventos ! 
Paco cruentos ! 

Lucifer. Baffled! baffled! 
Inefficient, 

Craven spirits! leave this labour 
Unto Time, the great Destroyer! 
Come away, ere night is gone ! 

Voices. Onward ! onward ! 



224 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

With the night-wind, 
Over field and farm and forest, 
Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, 
Blighting all we breathe upon ! 
[They siveep away. Organ and Gregorian Chant."] 

Choir. 
Nocte surgentes 
Vigilemus omnes S 



The Castle of Fautsherg on the Rhine. A chamber in a tower. Prince Henry, 
sitting alone, ill and restless. Midnight. 

Prince Henry. I cannot sleep ! my fervid brain 
Calls up the vanished Past again, 
And throws its misty splendours deep 
Into the pallid realms of sleep ! 
A breath from that far-distant shore 
Comes freshening ever more and more, 
And wafts o'er intervening seas 
Sweet odours from the Hesperides ! 
A wind, that through the corridor 
Just stirs the curtain, and no more, 
And, touching the iEolian strings, 
Faints with the burden that it brings ! 
Come back ! ye friendships long departed ! 
That like o'erflowing streamlets started, 
And now are dwindled, one by one, 
To stony channels in the sun ! 
Come back ! ye friends, whose lives are ended, 
Come back, with all that light attended, 
Which seemed to darken and decay 
When ye arose and went away ! 

They come, the shapes of joy and woe, 
The airy crowds of long-ago, 
The dreams and fancies known of yore, 
That have been, and shall be no more. 
They change the cloisters of the night 
Into a garden of delight ; 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. .a 

They make the dark and dreary hours 
Open and blossom into flowers ! 
I would not sleep ! I love to be 
Again in their fair company ; 
But ere my lips can bid them stay, 
They pass and vanish quite away ! 
Alas ! our memories may retrace 
Each circumstance of time and place, 
Season and scene come back again, 
And outward things unchanged remain j 
The mnot reinsl 

Ourselves we cannot re-create. 
Nor set our souls to the same key 
Of the remembered harmony ! 

Rest ! rest ! Oh, gi\ i 

The thought of life that ne'er shall CH 

I [as something in it like d 

A weight I am too IT ! 

Sweeter to this afflicted br 

The thought of never-ending n 

Sweeter the undisturbed and d< 

Tranquillity of endless sleep ! 

[A flash of lightning, out qf which Li CIPBB appears, in the garb of a 
travelling Physician.'] 

Lucifer. All hail, Prince Henry! 

Prince Henry (starting). Who is it speaks? 
Who and what are you? 

Lucifer. One who seeks 

A moment's audience with the Prince. 

Prince Henri/. When came you in ? 

Lucifer. A moment since. 

I found your study door unlocked, 
And thought you answered when I knocked. 

Prince Henry. I did not hear you. 

Lucifer. You heard the thunder; 

It was loud enough to waken the dead. 
And it is not a matter of special wonder 
That, when God is walking overhead, 
You should not hear my feeble tread. 

Prince Henry. What may your wish or purpose be ? 

Lucifer. Nothing or everything, as it pleases 
Your Highness. You behold in me 
Only a travelling Physician; 



22 6 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

One of the few who have a mission 
To cure incurable diseases, 
Or those that are called so. 

Prince Henry. Can you bring 

The dead to life ? 

Lucifer. Yes ; very nearly. 

And, what is a wiser and better thing, 
Can keep the living from ever needing 
Such an unnatural, strange proceeding, 
By showing conclusively and clearly 
That death is a stupid blunder merely, 
And not a necessity of our lives. 
My being here is accidental ; 
The storm, that against your casement drives, 
In the little village below waylaid me. 
And there I heard, with a secret delight, 
Of your maladies, physical and mental, 
Which neither astonished nor dismayed me. 
And I hastened hither, though late in the night, 
To proffer my aid ! 

Prince Henry {ironically'). For this you came ! 
Ah, how can I ever hope to requite 
This honour from one so erudite ? 

Lucifer. The honour is mine, or will be when 
I have cured your disease. 

Prince Henry. But not till then. 

Lucifer. What is your illness ? 

Prince Henry. It has no name* 

A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame, 
As in a kiln, burns in my veins, 
Sending up vapours to the head; 
My heart has become a dull lagoon, 
Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains ; 
I am accounted as one who is dead, 
And, indeed, I think I shall be soon. 

Lucifer. And has Gordonius, the Divine, 
In his famous Lily of Medicine, — 
I see the book lies open before you, — 
No remedy potent enough to restore you ? 

Prince Henry. None whatever ! 

Lucifer. The dead are dead, 

And their oracles dumb, when questioned 
Of the new diseases that human life 
Evolves in its progress, rank and rife. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 227 

Consult the dead upon things that were, 
But the living only on things that are. 
Have you done this, by the appliance 
And aid of doctors ? 

Prince Henry. Ay, whole schools 

Of doctors, with their learned nil 
But the case is quite beyond their science. 
Even the doctors of Salern 
Send me back word they can discern 
No cure for a malady like this, 
Saw one which in its nature is 
Impossible, and cannot be! 

Lucifer. That sounds oracular ! 

Prince Henry. Unendurable! 

Lucifer. What is th< 

Prince Henri/. You shall 

Writ in this scroll is the mystery. 

Lucifer (reading). " Not to be cured, yet not incurable ! 
The only remedy that remains 
Is the blood that flows from a maiden's \ 
Who of her own free will .-.hall die. 
And give her lite as the price of yours!" 
That is the strangest of all cures, 
And one, I think, you will never try : 
The prescription you may well pul 
As something impossible to find 

Before the world itself shall end! 
And yet who knows? One cannot say 
That into some maiden's brain thai kind 
Of madness will not find its way. 
Meanwhile permit me to recommend, 
As the matter admits of no delay, 
My wonderful Catholicon, 
Of very subtile and magical powers. 

Prince Henry. Purge with your nostrums and drugs 
infernal 
The spouts and gargoyles of these towers, 
Not me ! My faith is utterly gone 
In every power but the Power Supernal ! 
Pray tell me, of what school are you ? 

Lucifer. Both of the Old and of the N 
The school of Hermes Tri-megistus, 
Who uttered his oracles sublime 
Before the Olympiads, in the dew 



328 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Of the early dawn and dusk of Time,, 
The reign of dateless old Hephaestus ! 
As northward, from its Nubian springs, 
The Nile for ever new and old, 
Among the living and the dead, 
Its mighty, mystic stream has roiled 5 
So, starting from its fountain-head 
Under the lotus-leaves of Isis, 
From the dead demigods of eld, 
Through long, unbroken lines of kings, 
Its course the sacred art has held, 
Unchecked, unchanged by man's devices. 
This art the Arabian Geber taught, 
And in alembics, finely wrought, 
Distilling herbs and flowers, discovered 
The secret that so long had hovered 
Upon the misty verge of Truth, 
The Elixir of Perpetual Youth, 
Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech ! 
Like him, this wondrous lore I teach ! 

Prince Henry. What ! an adept r 

Lucifer. Nor less, nor more ! 

Prince Henry. I am a reader of your books, 
A lover of that mystic lore ! 
With such a piercing glance it looks 
Into great Nature's open eye, 
And sees within it trembling lie 
The portrait of the Deity ! 
And yet, alas ! with all my pains, 
The secret and the mystery 
Have baffled and eluded me, 
Unseen the grand result remains ! 

Lucifer (showing a flash). Behold it here! this litt] 
flask 
Contains the wonderful quintessence, 
The perfect flower and efflorescence, 
Of all the knowledge man can ask ! 
Hold it up thus against the light ! 

Prince Henry. How limpid, pure, and crystalline, 
How quick, and treraulous, and bright 
The little wavelets dance and shine, 
As were it the Water of Life in sooth ! 

Lucifer. It is ! It assuages every pain, 
Cures all disease, and gives again 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 22g 

To age the swift delights of youth. 
Inhale its fragrance. 

Prince Henry. It is sweet. 

A thousand different odours meet 
And mingle in its rare perfume, 
Such as the winds of summer waft 
At open windows through a room ! 

Lucifer. Will you not taste it ? 

Prince Henry. Will one draught 

Suffice ? 

Lucifer. If not, you can drink more. 

Prince Henry. Into this crystal goblet pour 
So much as safely I may drink. 

Lucifer (pouring). Let not the quantity alarm you 5 
You may drink all; it will not harm you. 

Prince Henry. 1 am as one who on the brink 
Of a dark river stands and sees 
The waters flow, the landscape dim 
Around him waver, wheel, and swim, 
And, ere he plunges, stops to think 
Into what whirlpools he may sink; 
One moment pauses, and no more, 
Then madly plunges from the shore! 
Headlong into the mysteries 
Of life and death I boldly leap, 
Nor fear the fateful current's swe^p, 
Nor what in ambush lurks below ! 

For death is better than disease ! 

[An Angel with an JEolian harp hovers in the air.\ 
Angel. Woe ! woe ! eternal woe ! 
Not only the whispered prayer 
Of love, 

But the imprecations of hate, 
Reverberate 

For ever and ever through the air 
Above ! 

This fearful curse 
Shakes the great universe ! 

Lucifer (disappearing). Drink! drink! 
And thy soul shall sink 
Down into the dark abyss, 
Into the infinite abyss, 
From which no plummet nor rope 
Ever drew up the silver sand of hope ! 



230 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Prince Henry {drinking). It is like a draught of fire 
Through every vein 
I feel again 

The fever of youth, the soft desire ; 
A rapture that is almost pain 
Throbs in my heart and rills my brain ! 

joy ! O joy ! I feel 
The band of steel 
That so long and heavily has pressed 
Upon my breast 

Uplifted, and the malediction 

Of my affliction 

Is taken from me, and my weary breast 

At length finds rest. 

The Angel. It is bat the rest of the fire, from whic 
the air has been taken ! 
It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken 
It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow 
It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow 
With fiendish laughter, 
Hereafter, 
This false physician 
Will mock thee in thy perdition. 

Prince Henry. Speak! speak! 
Who says that I am ill ? 

1 am not ill ! I am not weak ! 
The trance, the swoon, the dream is o er ! 
I feel the chill of death no more ! 
At length, 

I stand renewed in all my strength ! 
Beneath me I can feel 
The great earth stagger and reel, 
As if the feet of a descending God 
Upon its surface trod, 

And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel ! 
This, O brave physician ! this 
Is thy great Palingenesis ! 

[Drinks agai?i.] 
The Angel. Touch the goblet no more ! 
It will make thy heart sore 
To its very core ! 
Its perfume is the breath 
Of the Angel of Death, 
And the light that within it lies 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 23 1 

Is the flash of his evil eyes. 
Beware ! O beware ! 
For sickness, sorrow, and care 
All are there ! 

Prince Henry (sinking lack). O thou voice within my 
breast ! 
Why entreat me, why upbraid me, 
When the steadfast tongues of truth 
And the flattering hopes of youth 
Have all deceived rue and betrayed me ? 
Give me, give me rest, O, rest ! 
Golden visions wave and b< 
Golden vapours, waters streaming, 
Landscapi changing, gleaming! 

1 am like a happy lover 
Who illumines life with dreaming! 
Brave physician ! Rare physi< ian ! 
\\ ell hast thou fulfilled 1. 

[His head jails on /• 

The Angel {receding), Alas! alas! 
Like a vapour the golden vision 
Shall fade and | 

And thou wilt find in thy heart again 
Only the blight of pain, 
And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition ! 

Court-yard of the Castle. HUBERT standing by tin d: 

Hubert How Bad the -rand old castle I 

O'erhead, the unmolested rooks 
Upon the turret's windy top 
Sit, talking of the farmer's crop ; 
Here in the court-yard springs the gra 
So few are now the feet that pass ; 
The stately peacocks, bolder grown, 
Come hopping down the steps of stone, 
As if the castle Mere their own • 
And I, the poor old seneschal, 
Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall. 
Alas ! the merry guests no more 
Crowd through the hospitable door; 
No eyes with youth and passion shine, 
No cheeks grow redder than the wine 3 
No song, no laugh, no jovial din 
Of drinking wassail to the pin ; 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 
But all is silent, sad, and drear, 
And now the only sounds I hear 
Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls, 
And horses stamping in their stalls ! 

\A horn sounds^ 

What ho ! that merry, sudden blast 
Reminds me of the days long past ! 
And, as of old resounding, grate 
The heavy hinges of the gate, 
And, clattering loud, with iron clank, 
Down goes the sounding bridge of plank, 
As if it were in haste to greet 
The pressure of a traveller's feet ! 

Enter Walter the Minnesinger. 

Walter. How now, my friend ! This looks quite lonely 
No banner flying from the walls, 
No pages and no seneschals, 
No warders, and one porter only ! 
Is it you, Hubert ? 

Hubert. Ah ! Master Walter ! 

Walter. Alas ! how forms and faces alter ! 
I did not know you. You look older ! 
Your hair has grown much greyer and thinner, 
And you stoop a little in the shoulder ! 

Hubert. Alack ! I am a poor old sinner, 
And, like these towers, begin to moulder ; 
And you have been absent many a year ! 

Walter. How is the Prince ? 

Hubert. He is not here ; 

He has been ill : and now has fled. 

Walter. Speak it out frankly : say he's dead ! 
Is it not so ? 

Hubert. No ; if you please -, 
A strange, mysterious disease 
Fell on him with a sudden blight. 
Whole hours together he would stand 
Upon the terrace, in a dream, 
Resting his head upon his hand, 
Best pleased when he was most alone, 
Like St. John Nepomuck in stone, 
Looking down into a stream. 
In the Round Tower, night after night, 
He sat, and bleared his eyes with books, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 2 

Until one morning we found him there 
Stretched on the floor, as if in a swoon 
He had fallen from his chair. 
We hardly recognised his sweet looks ! 

Walter, Poor Prince ! 

Hubert. I think he might have mended ; 

And he did mend j but very soon 
The Priests came flocking in like rooks, 
With all their crosiers and their crooks, 
And so at last the matter ended. 

Walter, How did it end \ 

Hubert. Why, in St. Rochus 

They made him stand and wait his doom; 
And, as if he were condemned to the tomb, 
Began to mutter their hocus-pocus. 
First, the Mass for the dead they chaunted, 

Then three times laid upon his head 
A shovelful of church-yard clay, 
Saying to him, as he stood undaunted, 
u This is a sign that thou art dead, 
So in thy heart be penitent !" 
And forth from the chapel door he went 
Into disgrace and banishment, 
Clothed in a cloak ofhodden 
And bearing a wallet, and a bell, 
Whose sound should be a perpetual knell 
To keep all travellers away. 

Walter. O, horrible fate! Outcast, rejected, 
As one with pestilence infected ! 

Hubert. Then was the family tomb unsealed, 
And broken helmet, sword, and shield, 
Buried together, in common wreck, 
As is the custom, when the last 
Of any princely house has passed, 
And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast, 
A herald shouted down the stair 
The words of warning and despair, — 
" O Hoheneck ! O Hoheneck ! " 

Walter. Still in my soul that cry goes on,— 
For ever gone ! for ever gone ! 
Ah, what a cruel sense of loss, 
lake a black shadow, would fall across 
The hearts of all, if he should die ! 
His* gracious presence upon earth 



234 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Was as a fire upon a hearth ; 
As pleasant songs, at morning sung 
The words that dropped from his sweet tongue 
Strengthened our hearts ; or heard at night, 
Made all our slumbers soft and light. 
Where is he ? 

Hubert. In the Odenwald. 

Some of his tenants, unappalled 
By fear of death, or priestly word, — 
A holy family, that make 
Each meal a Supper of the Lord, — 
Have him beneath their watch and ward, 
For love of him, and Jesus' sake ! 
Pray you come in. For why should I 
With out-door hospitality 
My prince's friend thus entertain ? 

Walter. I would a moment here remain. 
But you, good Hubert, go before, 
Fill me a goblet of May-drink, 
As aromatic as the May 
From which it steals the breath away, 
And which he loved so well of yore ; 
It is of him that I would think. 
You shall attend me, when I call, 
In the ancestral banquet-hall. 
Unseen companions, guests of air, 
You cannot wait on, will be there ; 
They taste not food, they drink not wine, 
But their soft eyes look into mine, 
And their lips speak to me, and all 
The vast and shadowy banquet-hall 
Is full of looks and words divine ! 

[Leaning over the parapet."] 

The day is done ; and slowly from the scene 
The stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, 
And puts them back into his golden quiver ! 
Below me in the valley, deep and green 
As goblets are, from which in thirsty draughts 
We drink its wine, the swift and mantling river 
Flows on triumphant through these lovely regions, 
Etched with the shadows of its sombre margent, 
And soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent ! 
Yes, there it flows, for ever, broad and still, 
As when the vanguard of the Roman egions 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. .235 

First saw it from the top of yonder hill ! 
How beautiful it is ! Fresh fields of wheat, 
Vineyard, and town, and tower with fluttering flag, 
The consecrated chapel on the crag, 
And the white hamlet gathered round its base, 
Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's feet, 
And looking up at his beloved face ! 
O friend ! O best of friends ! Thy absence more 
Than the impending night darkens the landscape o'er! 



II. 

A Farm in the Odenwald. A garden ; morning; Prince Henry seated, 
with a look. Elsie, at a distance, gathering f: 

Prince Henry (reading). One morning, all alone, 
Out of his convent of grey stone, 
into the forest older, darker, greyer, 
His lips moving as if in prayer, 
His head sunken upon his 1 
As in a dream ol 

Walked the Monk Felix. All about 
The broad, sweet sunshine lay without, 
Filling the summer air; 
And within the woodlands as he ' 
The twilight was like the Truce of (Jod 
With worldly wee and Cat 
Under him lay the golden I 
And above him the bough- -trees 

Waved, and made the sign of the en 
And whispered their Benedicites; 
And from the ground 
Rose an odour sweet and fragrant 
Of the wild-flowers and the vagrant 
Vines that wandered, 
Seeking the sunshine, round and round. 

These he heeded not, but pondered 
On the volume in his hand, 
A volume of St. Augustine, 
Wherein he read of the un 
Splendours of God's great town 
In the unknown land, 



236 THE GOLDEN LEGEND, 

Ana, with his eyes cast down 
In humility, he said : 
« I believe, O God, 
What herein I have read, 
But, alas ! I do not understand !" 

And lo ! he heard 

The sudden singing of a bird, 

A snow-white bird, that from a cloud 

Dropped down, 

And among the branches brown \ 

Sat singing 

So sweet, and clear, and loud, 

It seemed a thousand harp-strings ringing. 

And the Monk Felix closed his book, 

And long, long, 

With rapturous look, 

He listened to the song, 

And hardly breathed or stirred, 

Until he saw, as in a vision, 

The land Elysian, 

And in the heavenly city heard 

Angelic feet 

Fall on the golden flagging nf the street. 

And he would fain 

Have caught the wondrous bird, 

But strove in vain 5 

For it flew away, away, 

Far over hill and dell, 

And instead of its sweet singing 

He heard the convent bell 

Suddenly in the silence ringing 

For the service of noonday. 

And he retraced 

His pathway homeward sadly and in haste. 

In the convent there was a change ! 
He looked for each well-known face, 
But the faces were new and strange j 
New figures sat in the oaken stalls, 
New voices chaunted in the choir 5 
Yet the place was the same place, 
The same dusky walls 
Of cold, grey stone, 
The same cloisters and belfry and spire. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 237 

A stranger and alone 
Among that brotherhood 
The Monk Felix stood. 
"Forty years," said a Friar, 
" Have I been Prior 
Of this convent in the wood, 
But for that space 
Never have I beheld thy face !" 

The heart of the Monk Felix fell : 

And he answered, with submissive tone, 

"This morning, after the hour of Prime, 

I left my cell, 

And wandered forth alone, 

Listening all the time 

To the melodious singing 

Ola beautiful white bird, 

Until I heard 

The bells of the convent ringing 

Noon from their noisy towers. 

It was as it' 1 dreamed ; 

For what to me had seemed 

Moments only, had been hour-. ! " 

" Years," said a voice close by. 
It was an aged monk who spoke, 
From a bench of oak 
Fastened against the wall ; — 

He was the oldest monk of all. 

For a whole eentury 

Had he been there, 

Serving God in prayer, 

The meekest and humblest of his creatures. 

He remembered well the features 

Of Felix, and he said, 

Speaking distinct and slow : 

" One hundred years ago, 

When I was a novice in this place, 

There was here a monk, full of God's grace, 

Who bore the name 

Of Felix, and this man must be the same." 

And straightway 

They brought forth to the light of day 



238 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

A volume old and brown, 
A huge tome, bound 
In brass and wild-boar's hide, 
Wherein were written down 
The names of all who had died 
In the convent, since it was edified. 
And there they found, 
Just as the old monk said, 
That on a certain day and date, 
One hundred years before, 
Had gone forth from the convent gate. 
The Monk Felix, and never more 
Had entered that sacred door. 
He had been counted among the dead! 
And they knew, at last, 
That, such had been the power 
Of that celestial and immortal song, 
A hundred years had passed, 
And had not seemed so long 
As a single hour ! 

Elsie comes in with flowers, 

Elsie. Here are flowers for you, 
But they are not all for you. 
Some of them are for the Virgin 
And for Saint Cecilia. 

Prince Henry. As thou standest there, 
Thou seemest to me like the angel 
That brought the immortal roses 
To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber. 

Elsie. But these will fade. 

Prince Henry. Themselves will fade, 
But not their memory, 
And memory has the power 
To re-create them from the dust. 
They remind me, too, 
Of martyred Dorothea, 
Who from celestial gardens sent 
Flowers as her witnesses 
To him who scoffed and doubted. 

Elsie. Do you know the story 
Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter ? 
That is the prettiest legend of them all. 

Prince Henry. Then tell it to me. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 1 JQ 

But first come hither. 
Lay the flowers down beside me, 
And put both thy hands in mine. 
Now tell me the story. 

Elsie. Early in the morning 
The Sultan's daughter 
Walked in her lather's garden, 
Gathering the bright flowers, 
All full of dew. 

Prince Henry. Just as thou hast been d 
This morning, dearest Elsie. 

Elsie. And as she gathered them, 
She wondered more and more 
Who was the Master of the FloW< 
And made them grow 
Out of the cold, dark earth. 
" In my heart," she said, 
" I love him ; and for him 
Would leave my lailu ' 

To labour in his garden. " 
Prince Henry. Dear, inoooi I 

The long-f .lid. 

That in my early ehildhood 

My mother told me ! 

Upon my brain 

It reappears onee more, 

As a birthmark on the forehead 

When a hand suddenly 

Is laid upon it, and removed ! 

Elsie. And at midnight, 
As she lay upon her bed, 
She heard a voice 
Call to her from the garden, 
And, looking forth from her window, 
She saw a beautiful youth 
Standing among the flowers. 
It was the Lord Jesus; 
And she went down to him, 
And opened the door for him j 
And he said to her, ** O maiden ! 
Thou hast thought of me with love, 
Aral for th] 

. my Father 



j THE GOLDEN LEGEND* 

Have I come hither : 
I am the Master of the Flowers, 
My garden is in Paradise, 
And if thou wilt go with me ; 
Thy bridal garland 
Shall be of bright red flowers." 
And then he took from his finger 
A golden ring, 

And asked the Sultan's daughter 
If she would be his bride. 
And when she answered him with 2ove s 
His wounds began to bleed, 
And she said to him, 
" O Love ! how red thy heart is, 
And thy hands are full of roses." 
"For thy sake," answered he, 
" For thy sake is my heart so red. 
For thee I bring these roses. 
I gathered them at the cross 
Whereon I died for thee ! 
Come, for my Father calls. 
Thou art my elected bride ! " 
And the Sultan's daughter 
Followed him to his Father's garden. 

Prince Henry. Wouldst thou have done so ; Elsie? 

Elsie. Yes, very gladly. 

Prince Henry. Then the Celestial Bridegroom;. 
Will come for thee also. 
Upon thy forehead he will place, 
Not his crown of thorns, 
But a crown of roses. 
In thy bridal chamber, 
Like Saint Cecilia, 
Thou shalt hear sweet music, 
And breathe the fragrance 
Of flowers immortal i 
Go now and place these flowers 
Before her picture. 

A yoom in the Farmhouse. Ttcilight. Ursula spinning. Gottlieb asleep 
in his chair. 

Ursula. Darker and darker I Hardly a glimmer 
Of light comes in at the window-pane 5 
Or is it my eyes are growing dimmer ? 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 241 

I cannot disentangle this skein, 
Nor wind it rightly upon the reel. 
Elsie ! 

Gottlieb (starting). The stopping of thy wheel 
Has wakened me out of a pleasant dream. 
I thought I was sitting beside a stream, 
And heard the grinding of a mill, 
When suddenly the wheels stood still, 
And a voice cried " Elsie" in my ear! 
It startled me, it seemed so near. 

Ursula. I was calling her j I want a light. 
I cannot see to spin my flax. 
Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou hear ? 

Elsie (within). In a moment! 

Gottlieb. Where are Bertha and Max i 

Ursula. They are Bitting With El-ie at the door. 
She is telling them stories of the wood, 
And the Wolfj and Little Red Ilidinghood. 

Gottlieb. And where is the Prince? 

Ursula. In his room overhead 

I heard him walking across the floor, 
As he always does, with a heavy tread. 

Elsie comes in with a lamp. Max and Bertha follow her, and they all sing 
the Evening Song on the lighting of the lamps. 

I.\ : WING SONG. 

() ■; . dsome light 

Of the Father Immortal, 

And < t the a 

Sacred and blessed 

Jesus, our Saviour! 

Now to the sunset 
Again hast thou brought us; 
And, seeing the evening 
Twilight, we bless thee, 
Praise thee, adore thee ! 

Father Omnipotent! 
Son, the Life-giver '■ 
Spirit, the Comforter! 
Worthy at all times 
Of worship and wonder ! 

Prince Henry (at the door). Amen! 

Ursula. Who was it said Amen 

Elsie. It was the Prince : he stood at the door, 



242 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And listened a moment, as we chaunted 
The evening song. He is gone again. 
I have often seen him there before. 
Ursula. Poor Prince ! 

Gottlieb. I thought the house was haunted !, 

Poor Prince, alas ! and yet as mild 
And patient as the gentlest child ! 

Max. I love him because he is so good, 
And makes me such fine bows and arrows, 
To shoot at the robins and the sparrows, 
And the red squirrels in the wood ! 

Bertha. I love him, too ! 

Gottlieb. Ah, yes ! we all 

Love him, from the bottom of our hearts ; 
He gave us the farm, the house, and the grange, 
He gave us the horses and the carts, 
And the great oxen in the stall, 
The vineyard, and the forest range ! 
We have nothing to give him but our love ! 

Bertha. Did he give us the beautiful stork above 
On the chimney-top, with its large, round nest ? 

Gottlieb. No, not the stork ; by God in heaven. 
As a blessing, the dear, white stork was given 5 
But the Prince has given us all the rest. 
God bless him, and make him well again. 

Elsie. Would I could do something for his sake, 
Something to cure his sorrow and pain ! 

Gottlieb. That no one can; neither thou nor I, 
Nor any one else. 

Elsie. And must he die ? 

Ursula. Yes 3 if the dear God does not take 
Pity upon him, in his distress, 
And work a miracle ! 

Gottlieb. Or unless 

Some maiden, of her own accord, 
Offers her life for that of her lord, 
And is willing to die in his stead. 

Elsie. I will! 

Ursula. Prithee, thou foolish child, be stfll • 
Thou shouldst not say what thou dost not mean ! 

Elsie. I mean it truly ! 

Max. Oh, father ! this morning, 

Down by the mill, in the ravine, 
Hans killed a wolf, the very same 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 243 

That in the night to the sheepfold came, 
And ate up my lamb, that was left outside. 

Gottlieb. I am glad he is dead. Jt will be a warning 
To thi tj far and wide. 

Max. And I am going to have his hide ! 

Bertha. I wonder if this is the wolf that ate 
Little Red Kidiughood ! 

/la. Oh, no ! 

That wolf was killed a long while ago. 
Come, children, it is growing late. 

Max. Ah, how I wish 1 were a man, 
As stunt as Hans is, and as strong! 
I would do nothing else, the whole day long, 
But just kill wol 

Gottlieb. Then go to bed, 

And grow as fast as a little 
Bertha is half asleep ah 

See how she nods her heavy head. 

And her sleepy feet are so unst< 

She will hardly be able to creep upstairs. 

I Good night, my children. Here's the light. 

And do not forgi 

Before you 

Gottlieb. Good night ! 

Max and i. night ! 

[They go out with Elsie.] 

Ursula (spinning). She is a strange and wayward child. 
That Elsie of ours. She looks so 1 
And thoughts ;; weird and wild 

Seem of hue to have taken hold 
Of her heart, that was once 50 docile and mild! 

Gottlieb, She is like all girls. 

I rsula. Ah no, forsooth! 

Unlike all I have ever seen. 
For she has visions and strange dreams, 
And in all her words and ways, she seems 
Much older than she is in truth. 
Who would think her but fourteen ? 
And there has been of late such a change! 
My heart i.s heavy with fear and doubt 
That she may not live till the year is out. 
She is so strange, — so strange, — so strange! 

Gottlieb. I am not troubled with any such fearj 
She will live and thrive ior many a year. 



244 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Elsie's Chamber. Night. Elsie praying. 

Elsie. My Redeemer and my Lord, 
I beseech thee, I entreat thee, 
Guide me in each act and word, 
That hereafter I may meet thee, 
Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning, 
With my lamp well trimmed and burning ! 

Interceding 

With these bleeding 

Wounds upon thy hands and side, 

For all who have lived and erred 

Thou hast suffered, thou hast died, 

Scourged, and mocked, and crucified, 

And in the grave hast thou been buried ! 

If my feeble prayer can reach thee, 

my Saviour, I beseech thee, 
Even as thou hast died for me, 
More sincerely 

Let me follow where thou leadest; 

Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest, 

Die, if dying I may give 

Life to one who asks to live, 

And more nearly, 

Dying thus, resemble thee ! 

The Chamber of Gottlieb and Ursula. Midnight. Elsie stayiding by their 
bedside, weeping. 

Gottlieb. The wind is roaring; the rushing rain 
Is loud upon the roof and window-pane, 
As if the wild Huntsman of Rodenstein, 
Eoding evil to me and mine, 
Were abroad to-night, with his ghostly train ! 
In the brief lulls of the tempest wild, 
The dogs howl in the yard ; and hark ! 
Some one is sobbing in the dark, 
Here in the chamber ! 

Elsie. It is I. 

Ursula. Elsie, what ails thee, my poor child ? 

Elsie. I am disturbed and much distressed, 
In thinking our dear Prince must diej 

1 cannot close mine eyes, nor rest. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 245 

Gottlieb. What wouldst thou ? In the Power Divine 
His healing lies, not in our own ; 
It is in the hand of God alone. 

Elsie. Nay, he has put it into mine, 
And into my heart ! 

Gottlieb. Thy words are wild ! 

Ursula. What dost thou mean ? my child ! my child ! 

Elsie. That for our dear Prince Henry's sake 
I will myself the offering make. 
And give my life to purchase his. 

Ursula. Am I still dreaming, or awake? 
Thou speakest carelessly of death, 
And yet thou knowest not what it is. 

Elsie. 'Tis the cessation of our breath. 
Silent and motionless we lie j 
And no one knoweth more than this. 
I saw our little Gertrude die ; 
She left off breathing, and no more 
I smoothed the pillow beneath her head. 
She was more beautiful than before. 
Like violets faded were her 1 
By this we knew that she was dead. 
Through the open window looked the skies 
Into the chamber where she lay, 
And the wind was like the sound of wings, 
As if angels came to bear her away. 
Ah ! when I saw and felt these things, 
I found it difficult to stay ; 
I longed to die, as she had died, 
And go forth with her, side by side. 
The Saints are dead, the Martyrs dead, 
And Mary, and our Lord j and I 
Would follow in humility 
The way by them illumined ! 

Ursula, My child ! my child ! thou must not die! 

Elsie. Why should I live ? Do I not know 
The life of woman is full of woe ? 
Toiling on and on and on, 
With breaking heart and tearful eyes, 
And silent lips, and in the soul 
The secret longings that arise, 
Which this world never satisfies ! 
Some more, some less, but of the whole 
Not one quite happy, no, not one ! 

1 



246 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Ursula. It is the malediction of Eve ! 

Elsie. In place of it, let me receive 
The benediction of Mary, then. 

Gottlieb. Ah, woe is me ! Ah, woe is me ! 
Most wretched am I among men ! 

Ursula. Alas ! that I should live to see 
Thy death, beloved, and to stand 
Above thy grave ! Ah, woe the day ! 

Elsie. Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie 
Beneath the flowers of another land $ 
For at Salerno, far away 
Over the mountains, over the sea, 
It is appointed me to die ! 
And it will seem no more to thee 
Than if at the village on market-day 
I should a little longer stay 
Than I am used. 

Ursula. Even as thou sayest ! 

And how my heart beats when thou stayest ! 
I cannot rest until my sight 
Is satisfied with seeing thee. 
What, then, if thou wert dead ? 

Gottlieb. Ah me ! 

Of our old eyes thou art the light ! 
The joy of our old hearts art thou ! 
And wilt thou die ? 

Ursula. Not now ! not now ! 

Elsie. Christ died for me, and shall not I 
Be willing for my Prince to die ? 
You both are silent 5 you cannot speak. 
This said I, at our Saviour's feast, 
After confession to the priest, 
And even he made no reply. 
Does he not warn us all to seek 
The happier, better land on high, 
Where flowers immortal never wither j 
And could he forbid me to go thither ? 

Gottlieb. In God's own time, my heart's delight ! 
When he shall call thee, not before ! 

Elsie. I heard him call. When Christ ascended 
Triumphantly, from star to star, 
He left the gates of heaven ajar. 
I had a vision in the night, 
And saw him standing at the door 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 247 

Of his Father's mansion, vast and splendid, 
And beckoning to me from afar. 
I cannot stay ! 

Gottlieb. She speaks almost 

As if it were the Holy Ghost 
Spake through her lips, and in her stead ! 
What if this were of God ? 

Ursula. Ah, then 

Gainsay it dare we not. 

Gottlieb. Amen ! 

Elsie ! the words that thou hast said 
Are strange and new for us to hear, 
And fill our hearts with doubt and tear. 
Whether it be a dark temptation 
Of the Evil One, or God's inspiration, 
We in our blindness cannot 
We must think upon it, and pi 
For evil and good it both r 
If it be of God, his will be 
May he guard us from the Evil One! 
How hot thy hand is! how it trembles! 
Go to thy bed, and try to sleep. 

i'rsula. Kiss me. Goodnight; and do not weep -' 
[Elsie goes out.] 

Ah, what an awful thing is this ! 
I almost shuddered at her kiss, 
As if a ghost had touched my cheek, 
I am so childish and so weak ! 

►on as I see the earliest grey 
Of morning glimmer in the east, 
I will go over to the priest, 
And hear what the good man has to say ! 

A village church. A woman kneeling at the Confessional. 

The Parish Priest (from within). Go, sin no more! Thy 
penance o'er, 
A new and better life begin ! 
God maketh thee for ever free 
From the dominion of thy sin ! 
Go, sin no more ! He will restore 
The peace that rilled thy heart before, 

[The woman goes out. The Priest comes forth, and walks slowly up and down 
the church.] 



248 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And pardon thine iniquity ! 

blessed Lord ! how much I need 
Thy Jight to guide me on my way ! 
So many hands, that, without heed, 

Still touch thy wounds, and make them bleed r . 
So many feet, that, day by day, 
Still wander from thy fold astray ! 
Unless thou fill me with thy light, 

1 cannot lead thy flock aright ; 
Nor, without thy support, can bear 
The burden of so great a care., 
But am myself a castaway ! 

[A pause."] 

The day is drawing to its close j 

And what good deeds, since first it rose. 

Have I presented, Lord, to thee, 

As offerings of my ministry ? 

What wrong repressed, what right maintained., 

What struggle passed, what victory gained, 

What good attempted and attained ? 

Feeble, at best, is my endeavour ! 

I see, but cannot reach, the height 

That lies for ever in the light ; 

And yet for ever, and for ever, 

When seeming just within my grasp, 

I feel my feeble hands unclasp, 

And sink discouraged into night ! 

For thine own purpose thou hast sent 

The strife and the discouragement ! 

[A pause.] 
Why stayest thou, Prince of Hoheneck ? 
Why keep me pacing to and fro 
Amid these aisles of sacred gloom, 
Counting my footsteps as I go, 
And marking with each step a tomb ? 
Why should the world for thee make room., 
And wait thy leisure and thy beck ? 
Thou comest in the hope to hear 
Some word of comfort and of cheer. 
What can I say ? I cannot give 
Thee counsel to do this and live 5 
But rather, firmly to deny 
The tempter., though his power is strong, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 249 

And, inaccessible to wrong, 
Still like a martyr live and die ! 

\_A pause.] 

The evening air grows dusk and brown 5 

I must go forth into the town, 

To visit beds of pain and de 

Of restless limbs, and quivering breath, 

And sorrowing hearts, and patient 

That see, through tears, the sun go down, 

But never more shall see it rise. 

The poor, in body and t 

The sick and the disconsolate, 

Must not on man's convenience wait. 

[Goes out.] 
Enter Lucifer, as a Priest. 

Lucifer (with a genuflection, mocking), T: Black 

Pater-noster. 
God was my foster, 
stered me 

Under the book of the Palm-tree! 
St. .Michael was my dame. 
He was born at Bethlehem, 
He was made of flesh and blood. 

I end me my right food, 

My right food, and shelter too, 

That I may to yon kirk go, 

To read upon yon sweet book 

Which the mighty God of heaven shook 

Open, open, hell 

Shut, shut, heaven's gates ! 

All the devils in the air 

The stronger be, that hear the Black Prayer ! 

[Looking round the church.'] 

What a darksome and dismal place ! 

I wonder that any man has the face 

To call such a hole the House of the Lord, 

And the Gate of Heaven, — yet such is the word. 

Ceiling, and walls, and windows old, 

Covered with cobwebs, blackened with mould ; 

Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs, 

Dust on the benches, and stalls, and chairs ! 



250 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

The pulpit, from which such ponderous sermons 

Have fallen down on the brains of the Germans, 

With about as much real edification 

As if a great Bible., bound in lead, 

Had fallen, and struck them on the head j 

And I ought to remember that sensation ! 

Here stands the holy- water stoup ! 

Holy-water it may be to many, 

But to me, the veriest Liquor Gehennae ! 

It smells like a filthy fast-day soup ! 

Near it stands the box for the poor j 

With its iron padlock, safe and sure. 

I and the priest of the parish know 

Whither all these charities go ; 

Therefore, to keep up the institution, 

I will add my little contribution ! 

[He puts in money.~\ 

Underneath this mouldering tomb, 

With statue of stone, and scutcheon of brass, 

Slumbers a great lord of the village. 

All his life was riot and pillage, 

But at length, to escape the threatened doom 

Of the everlasting, penal fire, 

He died in the dress of a mendicant friar, 

And bartered his wealth for a daily mass. 

But all that afterwards came to pass, 

And whether he finds it dull or pleasant, 

Is kept a secret for the present, 

At his own particular desire. 

And here, in a corner of the wall, 

Shadowy, silent, apart from all, 

With its awful portal open wide, 

And its latticed windows on either side, 

And its step well worn by the bended knees 

Of one or two pious centuries, 

Stands the village confessional ! 

Within it, as an honoured guest, 

I will sit me down awhile and rest ! 

[Seats himself in the Confessional.} 

Here sits the priest ; and faint and low, 
-Like the sighing of an evening breeze, 
Comes through these painted lattices 
The ceaseless sound of human woe; 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. ap 

Here, while her bosom aches and thro"bs 
With deep and agonizing sobs, 
That halt arc passion, half contrition, 
The luckless daughter ot' perdition 
Slowly confesses her secret si ame ! 
The time, the place, the lover's name ! 
Here the grim murderer, with a groan, 
From his bruised conscience rolls the stone, 
Thinking that thus he can atone 
For ravages of BWOrd and flame ! 
Indeed, I marvel, and marvel greatly, 
How a priest can sil ttely, 

Reading, the whole year out and in, 
Naught but the catalogue ot" sin, 
And still keep any faith whatever 
In human virtue ! Never! never! 

I cannot repeat a thousandth part 

Of the horror^ and crimes and sins and woes 

Thai arise, when with palpitating tin 

Tin- grave-) ird in the human hi i 

Gives up its dead, at the voice of the \ : 

As if he were an archangel, at L< 

It makes a peculiar atmosphere. 

This odour of earthly passions and crim 

Such as I like to breathe, at times, 

And such as often brings me here 

In the hottest and mosi pestilential season* 
To-day I come for anoth< r reason 5 

To foster and ripen an evil thought 
In a heart that is almost to madness wrought, 
And to make a murderer (Hit of a prince, 
A sleight of hand I learned long since ! 
He comes. In the twilight he will not see 
The difference between his priest and me ! 
In the same net was the mother caught ! 

Prince Henry, entering and kneeling at the Confessional. 

Remorseful, penitent, and lowly, 
I come to crave, O Father holy, 
Thy benediction on my head. 

Lucifer. The benediction shall be said 
After confession, not before ! 
'Tis a God-speed to the parting guest, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 
Who stands already at the door, 
Sandalled with holiness, and dressed 
In garments pure from earthly stain. 
Meanwhile, hast thou searched well thy breast 
Does the same madness fill thy brain ? 
Or have thy passion and unrest 
Vanished for ever from thy mind ? 

Prince Henry. By the same madness still made blind, 
By the same passion still possessed, 
I come again to the house of prayer, 
A man afflicted and distressed ! 
As in a cloudy atmosphere, 
Through unseen sluices of the air, 
A sudden and impetuous wind 
Strikes the great forest white with fear, 
And every branch, and bough, and spray 
Points all its quivering leaves one way, 
And meadows of grass, and fields of grain, 
And the clouds above, and the slanting rain, 
And smoke from chimneys of the town, 
Yield themselves to it, and bow down, 
So does this dreadful purpose press 
Onward, with irresistible stress, 
And all my the ughts and faculties, 
Struck level by the strength of this, 
From their true inclination turn, 
And all stream forward to Salern ! 

Lucifer. Alas ! we are but eddies of dust, 
Uplifted by the blast, and whirled 
Along the highway of the world 
A moment only, then to fall 
Back to a common level all, 
At the subsiding of the gust ! 

Prince Henry. O holy Father ! pardon in me 
The oscillation of a mind 
Unsteadfast, and that cannot find 
Its centre of rest and harmony ! 
For evermore before mine eyes 
This ghastly phantom flits and flies, 
And as a madman through a crowd, 
With frantic gestures and wild cries, 
It hurries onward, and aloud 
Repeats its awful prophecies ! 
Weakness is wretchedness ! To be strong 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND, 
Is to be happy ! I am weak, 
And cannot find the good I seek, 
Because I feel and fear the wrong ! 

Lucifer. Be not alarmed ! The Church is kind, 
And in her mercy and her meek i 
She meets half-way her children's weakness, 
Writes their transgressions in the dust ! 
Though in the Decalogue we find 
The mandate written, " Thou shah not kill !" 
Yet there are cases when we must. 
In war, for instance, or from scat lie 
To guard and keep the one true Faith ! 
We must look at the Decalogue in the light 
Of an ancient statute, that was meant 
For a mild and general application, 
To be understood with the reservation, 
That, in certain nstanees, the Right 
Must yield to the Expedient! 
Thou art a Prince. If thou shouldst die, 
What hearts and hopes would prostrate lie ! 
What noble deeds, what fair renown, 
Into the grave with thee go down ! 
What acts of valour and courtesy 
Remain undone, ami die with thee! 
Thou art the last of all thy race ! 
With thee a noble Dame expires, 
And vanishes from the earth' 
The glorious memory of thy sires! 
She is a peasant. In her veins 
Flows common and plebeian blood; 
It is such as daily and hourly stains 
The dust and the turf of battle plains, 
By vassals shed, in a crimson flood, 
Without reserve, and without reward, 
At the slightest summons of their lord ! 
But thine is precious ; the fore-appointed 
Blood of kings, of God's anointed ! 
Moreover, what has the world in store 
For one like her, but tears and toil ? 
Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil, 
A peasant's child and a peasant's wife, 
And her soul within her sick and sore 
With the roughness and barrenness of life! 
I marvel not at the heart's recoil 



>J4 THE GULDEN LEGEND. 

From a fate like this in one so tender, 
Nor at its eagerness to surrender 
All the wretchedness, want, and woe 
That await it in this world below, 
For the unutterable splendour 
Of the world of rest beyond the skies. 
So the Church sanctions the sacrifice : 
Therefore inhale this healing balm, 
And breathe this fresh life into thine 5 
Accept the comfort and the calm 
She offers, as a gift divine ; 
Let her fall down and anoint thy feet 
With the ointment costly and most sweet 
Of her young blood, and thou shalt live. 

Prince Henry. And will the righteous Heaven forgive 
No action, whether foul or fair, 
Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere 
A record, written by fingers ghostly, 
As a blessing or a curse, and mostly 
In the greater weakness or greater strength 
Of the acts which follow it, till at length 
The wrongs of ages are redressed, 
And the justice of God made manifest ! 

Lucifer. In ancient records it is stated 
That, whenever an evil deed is done, 
Another devil is created 
To scourge and torment the offending one ! 
But evil is only good perverted, 
And Lucifer, the Bearer of Light, 
But an angel fallen and deserted, 
Thrust from his Father's house with a curse 
Into the black and endless night. 

Prince Henry. If justice rules the universe, 
From the good actions of good men 
Angels of light should be begotten, 
And thus the balance restored again. 

Lucifer. Yes ; if the world were not so rotten, 
And so given over to the Devil ! 

Prince Henry. But this deed, is it good or evil? 
Have I thine absolution free 
To do it, and without restriction ? 

Lucifer. Ay ! and from whatsoever sin 
Lieth around it and within, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND.. 355 

From all crimes in which it may involve thee, 
I now release thee and absolve thee ! 

Prince Henry. Give me thy holy benediction. 

Lucifer {stretching forth his hand and muttering). 

Maledictione perpetua 
Maledicat vos 
Pater eternus ! 

The Angel, with the /Eolian harp. 
Take heed ! take heed ! 
Noble art thou in thy birth, 
By the good and the great of earth 
Hast thou been taught ! 
Be noble in every thought 
And in every deed I 
Let not the illusion of thy senses 
Betray thee to deadly often 
Be strong ! be good ! be pure ! 
The right only shall endure, 
All things else are but false pretences. 
I entreat thee, 1 implore, 
Listen no more 

To the suggestions of an evil spirit, 
That even now is there, 

Making the foul seem fair, 

And selfishness itself a virtue and a merit? 

house. 

Gottlich. It is decided ! For many days, 
And nights as many, we have had 
A nameless terror in our breast, 
Making us timid, and afraid 
Of God, and his mysterious waj 
We have been sorrowful and sad ; 
Much have we suffered, much have prayed 
That he would lead us as is best, 
And show us what His will required. 
It is decided ; and we give 
Our child, O Prince, that you may live! 

Ursula. It is of God. He has inspired 
This purpose in her ; and through pain, 
Out of a world of sin and woe, 
He takes her to himself again. 



*5 6 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 
The mother's heart resists no longer ; 
With the Angel of the Lord in vain 
It wrestled, for he was the stronger. 

Gottlieb. As Abraham offered long ago 
His son unto the Lord, and even 
The everlasting Father in heaven 
Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter, 
So do I offer up my daughter ! 

[Ursula hides her face.'] 

Elsie. My life is little, 
Only a cup of water, 
But pure and limpid. 
Take it, O my Prince ! 
Let it refresh you, 
Let it restore you. 
It is given willingly, 
It is given freely j 
May God bless the gift ! 

Prince Henry. And the giver ! 

Gottlieb. Amen! 

Prince Henry. I accept it 1 

Gottlieb. Where are the children ? 

Ursula. They are already asleep. 

Gottlieb. What if they were dead ? 

In the Garden. 

Elsie. I have one thing to ask of you. 

Prince Henry. What is it? 

It is already granted. 

Elsie. Promise me, 

When we are gone from here, and on our way 
Are journeying to Salerno, you will not, 
By word or deed, endeavour to dissuade me 
And turn me from my purpose, but remember 
That as a pilgrim to the Holy City 
Walks unmolested, and with thoughts of pardon 
Occupied wholly, so would I approach 
The gates of Heaven, in this great jubilee, 
With my petition, putting off from me 
All thoughts of earth, as shoes from off my feet. 
Promise me this. 

Prince Henry. Thy words fall from thy lips 
.Like roses from the lips of Angelo : and angels 
Might stoop to pick them up ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 25? 

Elsie. Will you not promise? 

Prince Henry. If ever we depart upon this journey, 
So long to one or both of us, I promise. 

Elsie. Shall we not go, then r Have you lifted me 
Into the air, only to hurl me back 
Wounded upon the ground ? and offered me 
The waters of eternal life, to bid me 
Drink the polluted puddles of this world ? 

Prince Henry. O Elsie ! what a Lesson thou dost teach rael 
The life which is, and that which is to come, 
Suspended hang in such nice equipoise 
A breath disturbs the balance j and that scale 
In which we throw our hearts preponderates, 
And the other, like an empty one, flies up 
And is accounted vanity and air! 
To me the thought of death is terrible, 
Having such hold on life, lb thee it is not 
So much even as the lifting of a latch; 
Only a step into the open air 
Out of a tent already Luminous 
With light that shines through its transparent walls. 
O pure in heart! from thy sweet dust shall grow 
Lilies, upon whose petals will be written 
"Ave Maria" in characters of gold! 



III. 

A street in Strasiurg. Night. Prince Henry wandering alone, wrapped 

in a cloak. 

Prince Henri/. Still is the night. The sound of feet 
Has died away from the empty street; 
And like an artisan, bending down 
His head on his anvil, the dark town 
Sleeps, with a slumber deep and sweet. 
Sleepless and restless, I alone, 
In the dusk and damp of these walls of stone, 
Wander and weep in my remorse ! 

Crier of the Dead (ringing a hell). 
Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! ' 



358 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Prince Henry. Hark ! with what accents loud and hoarse 
This warder on the walls of death 
Sends forth the challenge of his breath ! 
I see the dead that sleep in the grave ! 
They rise up, and their garments wave, 
Dimly and spectral, as they rise, 
With the light of another world in their eyes ! 

Crier of the Dead, 

Wake! wake! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 

Prince Henry. Why for the dead, who are at rest ? 
Pray for the living, in whose breast 
The struggle between right and wrong 
Is raging terrible and strong, 
As when good angels war with devils ! 
This is the Master of the Revels, 
Who, at Life's flowing feast, proposes 
The health of absent friends, and pledges, 
Not in bright goblets crowned with roses, 
And tinkling as we touch their edges, 
But with his dismal, tinkling bell, 
That mocks and mimics their funeral knell ! 

Crier of the Dead. 

Wake! wake! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 

Prince Henry. Wake not, beloved ! be thy sleep 
Silent as night is, and as deep ! 
There walks a sentinel at thy gate 
Whose heart is heavy and desolate, 
And the heavings of whose bosom number 
The respirations of thy slumber, 
As if some strange, mysterious fate 
Had linked two hearts in one, and mine 
Went madly wheeling about thine, 
Only with wider and wilder sweep ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 159 

Crier oj the Dead (at a distance). 

Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray tor the Dead ! 

Prince Henry. Lo ! with what depth of blackness thrown 
Against the clouds, far up the skies 
The walls of the cathedral rise, 
Like a mysterious grove of stone, 
With fitful lights and shadows blending, 
As from behind, the moon, ascending, 
Lights its dun isles and paths unknown ! 
The wind is rising j but the boughs 
Rise not and fall not with the wind 
That through their foliage sobs and soughs; 
Only the cloudy rack behind, 
Drifting onward, wild and ra 
Give to each spire and buttress jagged 

A m . ming motion undefined. 

Below on the square, an armed knight, 

Still as a statue and as white, 

Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams qun 

Upon the points of his armour bright 

As on the ripples of a river. 

He lifts the visor from his cheek, 

Ami beckons, and makes as he would speak. 

Walter (the Minnesinger). Friend! can you tell me where 
ali-la 
Thuringia's horsemen for the night ? 
For I have lingered in the rear, 
And wander vainly up and down. 

Prince Henry. I am a stranger in the town, 
As thou art ; but the voice I hear 
Is not a stranger to mine ear. 
Thou art Walter of the Vogelweid ! 

JJ 'alter. Thou hast guessed rightly; and thy name 
Is Henry of Hoheneck ! 

Prince Henry. Ay, the same. 

Walter (embracing him). Come closer, closer to my side ! 
What brings thee hither? What potent charm 
Has drawn thee from thy German farm 
Into the old Alsatian city ? 

Prince Henry. A tale of wonder and of pity ! 



a< 5c THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

A wretched man, almost by stealth 
Dragging my body to Salern, 
In the vain hope and search for health, 
And destined never to return. 
Already thou hast heard the rest. 
But what brings thee, thus armed and dight 
In the equipments of a knight ? 

Walter. Dost thou not see upon my breast 
The cross of the Crusaders shine ? 
My pathway leads to Palestine. 

Prince Henry. Ah, would that way were also mine 

noble poet ! thou whose heart 
Is like a nest of singing-birds 
Rocked on the topmost bough of life 
Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart, 
And in the clangour of the strife 

" Mingle the music of thy words ? 

Walter. My hopes are high, my heart is proud;, 
And like a trumpet long and loud, 
Thither my thoughts all clang and ring ! 
My life is in my hand, and lo ! 

1 grasp and bend it as a bow, 

And shoot forth from its trembling string 
An arrow, that shall be, perchance, 
Like the arrow of the Israelite king 
Shot from the window toward the east, 
That of the Lord's deliverance ! 

Prince Henry. My life, alas ! is what thou seest 

enviable fate ! to be 

Strong, beautiful, and armed like thee 

With lyre and sword, with song and steel ; 

A hand to smite, a heart to feel ! 

Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, thy sword, 

Thou givest all unto thy Lord ; 

While I, so mean and abject grown, 

Am thinking of myself alone. 

Walter. Be patient : Time will reinstate 
Thy health and fortunes. 

Prince Henry. 'Tis too late ! 

1 cannot strive against my fate ! 

Walter. Come with me; for my steed is weary j 
Our journey has been long and dreary, 
A.nd, dreaming of his stall, he dints 
With his impatient hoofs the flints. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 261 

Prince Henry (aside). I am ashamed, in my disgrace, 

To look into that noble face ! 

To-morrow, Walter, let it be. 

IVatter. To-morrow, at the dawn of day., 

I shall again be on my way. 

Come with me to the hostelry, 

For I have many things to say. 

Our journey into Italy 

Perchance together we may make 

Wilt thou not do it for 

Prince Henry. A sick mans pace would but impede 

Thine eager and impatient 5] 

Besides, my pathway leads me round 

To Hirschau, in the forest's bound, 

Where I assemble man and steed, 

And all things for my jourm 

{They go out.] 

Lucifer (Jlyini* over the city). Sle< p, sle< p, O city ! till the 
light 

Wakes you to sin and crime again, 
Whilst on your dreams, like dismal rain, 
I scatter downward through the night 
My maledictions dark and deep. 
I have more martyrs in your walls 
Than God has ; and they cannot sleep; 
They are my bondsmen and my thralls; 
Their wretched lives are full ol pain, 
Wild agonies of nerve and brain; 
And every heart-beat, every breath, 
Is a convulsion worse than death! 
Sleep, sleep, O city! though within 
The circuit of your walls there lies 
No habitation free from sin, 
And all its nameless miseries ; 
The aching heart, the aching head, 
Grief for the living and the dead, 
And foul corruption of the time, 
Disease, distress, and want, and woe, 
And crimes, and passions that may grow 
Until they ripen into crime ! 



2(5a THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Square in front of the Cathedral. Easter Sunday. Friar Cuthbert preaching 
to the crowd from a pulpit in the open air. Prince Henry and Elsie crossing 
the square. 

Prince Henry. This is the day when from the dead 
Our Lord arose j and everywhere, 
Out of their darkness and despair, 
Triumphant over fears and foes, 
The hearts of his disciples rose, 
When to the women, standing near, 
The Angel in shining vesture said, 
"The Lord is risen ; he is not here!" 
.And, mindful that the day is come, 
On all the hearths in Christendom 
The fires are quenched, to be again 
Rekindled from the sun, that high 
Is dancing in the cloudless sky. 
The churches are all decked with ilowers, 
The salutations among men 
Are but the Angel's words divine, 
"Christ is arisen !." and the bells 
Catch the glad murmur, as it swells, 
And chant together in their towers. 
All hearts are glad ; and free from care 
The faces of the people shine. 
See what a crowd is in the square, 
Gaily and gallantly arrayed ! 

Elsie. Let us go back ; I am afraid ! 

Prince Henry. Nay, let us mount the church-steps here, 
Under the doorway's sacred shadow ; 
We can see all things, and be freer 
From the crowd that madly heaves and presses ! 

Elsie. What a gay pageant ! what bright dresses ! 
It looks like a flower-besprinkled meadow. 
What is that yonder on the square ? 

Prince Henry. A pulpit in the open air, 
And a Friar, who is preaching to the crowd 
In a voice so deep and clear and loud, 
That, if we listen, and give heed, 
His lowest words will reach the ear. 

Friar Cuthbert (gesticulating and cradling a postilions whip). 

What ho ! good people ! do you not hear? 
Dashing along at the top of his speecj, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 263 

Booted and spurred, on his jaded steed, 
A courier conies with words of cheer. 
Courier ! what is the news, I pray r 

" Christ is arisen !" Whence come you ? " From court." 
Then I do not believe it ; you say it in sport. 

[Cracks his ichip again.'] 

Ah, here comes another, riding this way 3 

We soon shall know what he has to say. 

Courier ! what are the tidings to-day ? 

" Christ is arisen !" Whence come you ? " From town." 

Then I do not believe it ; away with you, clown. 

[Cracks hit whip mure violently.] 

And here comes a third, who is spurring amain. 

What news do you bring, with your loose-hanging rein, 

Your spurs wet with blood, and your bridle with foam? 

" Christ is arisen !" Whence come yon } " From Rome." 

Ah, now I believe. He is risen, indeed. 

Ride on with the news, at the top of your speed ! 

crowd.] 

To come back to my text ! When the news was first spread 

That Christ was arisen indeed from the dead, 

Very great was the joy of the angels in heaven; 

And as great the dispute as to who should carry 

The tidings thereof to the Virgin Mary, 

Pierced to the heart with Borrows seven. 

Old Father Adam was lirM to propose, 

As being the author of all our wi 

But he was refused, for fear, said they, 

He would stop to eat apples on the way! 

Abel came next, but petitioned in vain, 

Because he might meet with his brother Cain ! 

Noah, too, was refused, lest his weakness for wine 

Should delay him at every tavern-sign ; 

And John the Baptist could not get a vote, 

On account of his old-fashioned, camel's-hair coat j 

And the Penitent Thief, who died on the cross, 

Was reminded that all his bones were broken ! 

Till at last, when each in turn had spoken, 

The company being still at a loss, 

The Angel, who rolled aw r ay the stone, 

Was sent to the sepulchre, all alone, 



264 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And filled with glory that gloomy prison, 
And said to the Virgin, "The Lord is arisen !" 

[The Cathedral lells rf??g-.] 

But hark ! the bells are beginning to chime ; 

And I feel that I am growing hoarse. 

I will put an end to my discourse, 

And leave the rest for some other time. 

For the bells themselves are the best of preachers ; 

Their brazen lips are learned teachers, 

From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air, 

Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, 

Shriller than trumpets under the Law, 

Now a sermon, and now a prayer. 

The clangorous hammer is the tongue, 

This way, that way, beaten and swung, 

That from Mouth of Brass, as from Mouth of Gold, 

May be taught the Testaments, New and Old. 

And above it the great cross-beam of wood 

Representeth the Holy Rood, 

Upon which, like the bell, our hopes are hung. 

And the wheel wherewith it is swayed and rung 

Is the mind of man, that round and round 

Sways, and maketh the tongue to sound ! 

And the rope, with its twisted cordage three, 

Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity 

Of Morals, and Symbols, and History 5 

And the upward and downward motions show 

That we touch upon matters high and low; 

And the constant change and transmutation 

Of action and of contemplation, 

Downward, the Scripture brought from on high, 

Upward, exalted again to the sky; 

Downward, the literal interpretation, 

Upward, the Vision and Mystery ! 

And now, my hearers, to make an end, 

I have only one word more to say ; 

In the church, in honour of Easter day, 

Will be represented a Miracle Play; 

And I hope you will all have the grace to attend. 

Christ bring us at last to his felicity ! 

Pax vobiscum ! et Benedicite ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 265 

In the Cathedral. 

CHANT. 

Kyrie Eleison ! 
Christe Eleison ! 

Elsie. I am at home here in my Father's house ! 
These paintings of the Saints upon the walls 
Have all familiar and benignant faces. 

Prince Henry. The portraits of the family of God ! 
Thine own hereafter shall be placed among them. 

Elsie. How very grand it is and wonderful ! 
Never have I beheld a church so splendid ! 
Such columns, and such arches, and such windows, 
So many tombs and statues in the chapels. 
And under them so many confessionals. 
They must be for the rich. I should not like 
To tell my sins in such a church ;:-. this. 
Who built it ? 

Prince Henry. A great master of his craft, 
Erwin von Steinbach ; but not he alone, 
For many generations laboured with him. 
Children th.it came to Bee these Saints in stone, 
As day by day out of tin blocks they rose, 
Grew old and died, and still the work went on, 
And on, and on, and is not yet completed. 
The generation that succeeds our own 
Perhaps may finish it. The architect 
Built his great heart into these sculptured stones, 
And with him toiled his children, and their lives 
Were builded, with his own, into the walls, 
As offerings unto God. You see that statue 
Fixing its joyous, but deep-wrinkled eyes 
Upon the Pillar of the Angels yonder. 
That is the image of the master, carved 
JBy the fair hand of his own child, Sabina. 

Elsie. How beautiful is the column that he looks at! 

Prince Henry. That, too, she sculptured. At the base of it 
Stand the Evangelists ; above their heads 
Four Angels blowing upon marble trumpets, 
And over them the blessed Christ, surrounded 
By his attendant ministers, upholding 
The instruments of his passion. 

Elsie. O my lord ! 



266 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Would I could leave behind me upon earth 
Some monument to thy glory, such as this ! 

Prince Henry. A greater monument than this thou leave 
In thine own life, all purity and love ! 
See, too, the Rose, above the western portal 
Flamboyant with a thousand gorgeous colours, 
The perfect flower of Gothic loveliness ! 

Elsie. And, in the gallery, the long line of statues, 
Christ with his twelve Apostles watching us. 

[A Bishop in armour, booted and spurred, passes with his train.} 

Prince Henry. But come away; we have not time to look. 
The crowd already fills the church, and yonder, 
Upon a stage, a herald with a trumpet, 
Clad like the Angel Gabriel, proclaims 
The Mystery that will now be represented. 



THE NATIVITT. 
A MIRACLE PLAY * 



INTROITUS. 

Prceco. Come, good people, all and each. 
Come and listen to our speech ! 
In your presence here I stand, 
With a trumpet in my hand, 
To announce the Easter Play, 
Which we represent to-day ! 
First of all, we shall rehearse, 
In our action and our verse, 

* A singular chapter in the history of the Middle Ages is that which gives accoun 
of the early Christian Drama, the Mysteries, Moralities, and Miracle- Plays, whicl 
were at first performed in churches, and afterwards in the streets, on fixed or movable 
stages. For the most part, the Mysteries were founded on the historic portions of the 
Old and New Testaments, and the Miracle-Plays on the lives of saints ; a distinctior 
not always observed, however, for in Mr. Wright's " Early Mysteries and other Latir 
Poems of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries," the Resurrection of Lazarus is called 
a Miracle, and not a Mystery. The Moralities were plays, in which the Virtues and 
Vices were personified. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 267 

The Nativity of our Lord, 
As written in the old record 
Of the Protevangelion, 
So that he who reads may run ! 

[Blows his trumpet.'} 
I. HEAVEN. 

Mercy (at the feet of God). Have pity, Lord! be not afraid 
To save mankind, whom thou hast made, 
Nor let the souls that were betrayed 
Perish eternally! 
Justice. It cannot be, it must not be! 
When in the garden placed by thee, 
The fruit of the forbidden tree 
He ate, and he must die ! 
Mercy, Have pity, Lord! let penitence 
Atone for disobedience, 
Nor let the fruit of man's offence 
Hi endless misery ! 
Justice. What penitence 'proportionate 
Can e'er be felt tor BID BO 'treat ? 
Of the forbidden fruit he ate, 
And damned must he be! 
God. He shall be saved, it that within 
The bounds of earth one free from sin 
Be found, who for his kith and kin 
Will surfer martyrdom. 
The Four Virtues. Lord ! we have searched the world 
around, 
From centre to the utmost bound, 
But no such mortal can be found ; 
Despairing, back we come. 
Wisdom. No mortal, but a God-made man, 
Can ever carry out this plan, 
Achieving what none other can, 
Salvation unto all ! 
God. Go, then, O my beloved Son ! 
It can by thee alone be done ; 
By thee the victory shall be won 
O'er Satan and the Fall ! 

[Here the Angel Gabriel shall leave Paradise and fly towards the earth; the 
jaws of Hell open below, and the Devils ivalk about, making a great noise.] 



268 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



II. MARY AT THE WELL. 

Mary. Along the garden walk, and thence 
Through the wicket in the garden fence, 

I steal with quiet pace, 
My pitcher at the well to fill, 
That lies so deep and cool and still 

In this sequestered place. 
These sycamores keep guard around ; 
I see no face, I hear no sound, 

Save bubblings of the spring, 
And my companions, who within 
The threads of gold and scarlet spin, 

And at their labour sing. 
The Angel Gabriel. Hail, Virgin Mary, full of grace ! 

[Here Mary looketh around her, trembling, and then saithJ] 

Mary. Who is it speaketh in this place, 

With such a gentle voice ? 
Gabriel. The Lord of heaven is with thee now ! 
Blessed among all women thou, 
Who art his holy choice ! 
Mary (setting down the pitcher). What can this mean? No 
one is near, 
And yet such sacred wards I hear, 
I almost fear to stay. 

[Here the Angel, appearing to her, shall say.] 

Gabriel. Fear not, O Mary ! but believe ! 
For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceive 

A child this very day. 
Fear not, O Mary ! from the sky 
The majesty of the Most High 

Shall overshadow thee ! 

Mary. Behold the handmaid of the Lord ! 
According to thy holy word, 
So be it unto me ! 

[Here the Devils shall again make a great noise wider the stage.] 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND, 269 

III. THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN PLANETS, BEARING THE 
STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 

The Angels. The Angels of the Planets Seven, 
Across the shining fields of heaven 

The natal star we bring ! 
Dropping our sevenfold virtues down, 
As priceless jewel, in the crown 

Of Christ, our new-born King. 
Raphael. I am the Angel of the Sun, 
Whose flaming wheels began to run 

When God's almighty breath 
Said to the Darkness and the Night, 
Let there be light ! and there was light ! 

I bring the gift of Faith. 
Gabriel. I am the Angel of the Moon, 
Darkened, to be rekindled soon 

Beneath the azure cope ! 
Nearesl to earth, it i> my ray 
That best illumes the midnight way. 

I bring the gilt ol Hope ! 
AnaeL The Angel of the Star of Love, 
The Evening Star, that shines above 

The place where lovers be, 
Above all happy hearth-- and homes, 
On roofs of thatch, or golden domes, 

I give him Charity ! 
ZobiackeL The Planet Jupiter is mine! 
The mightiest .star of all that .shine, 

Except the sun alone ! 
He is the High Priest of the Dove, 
And sends, from his great throne above, 

Justice, that shall atone ! 
Michael. The Planet Mercury whose place 
Is nearest to the sun in space, 

Is my allotted sphere ! 
And with celestial ardour swift 
I bear upon my hands the gift 

Of heavenly Prudence here ! 
Uriel. I am the Minister of Mars, 
The strongest star among the stars ! 

My songs of power prelude 
The march and battle of man's life, 



■o THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And for the suffering and the strife, 
I give him Fortitude ! 
Orifel. The Angel of the uttermost 
Of all the shining, heavenly host, 

From the far-off expanse 
Of the Saturnian, endless space 
I bring the last, the crowning grace, 
The gift of Temperance . l 
\A sudden light shines from the windows of the stable in the village below.'] 

IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST. 

The stable of the Inn. The Virgin and Child. Three Gipsy Kings, Gaspar, 
Melchior, and Belshazzar, shall come in. 

Gaspar. Hail to thee, Jesus of Nazareth ! 
Though in a manger thou drawest thy breath, 
Thou art greater than Life and Death, 

Greater than Joy or Woe ! 
This cross upon the line of life 
Portend eth struggle, toil, and strife, 
And through a region with dangers rife 

In darkness shalt thou go ! 
Melchior. Hail to thee, King of Jerusalem ! 
Though humbly born in Bethlehem, 
A sceptre and a diadem 

Await thy brow and hand ! 
The sceptre is a simple reed, 
The crown will make thy temples bleed, 
And in thy hour of greatest need, 

Abashed thy subjects stand ! 
Belshazzar. Hail to thee, Christ of Christendom 
O'er all the earth thy kingdom come ! 
From distant Trebizond to Rome 

Thy name shall men adore ! 
Peace and good-will among all men, 
The Virgin has returned again, 
Returned the old Saturnian reign 

And Golden Age once more. 
The Child Christ. Jesus, the Son of God, am I, 
Born here to suffer and to die 
According to the prophecy, 

That other men may live ! 
The Virgin. And now these clothes, that wrapped hir 
take, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 2 y x 

And keep them precious, for his sake , 
Our benediction thus we make, 
Naught else have we to give. 
[She gives them swaddling-clothes, and they depart.] 

V. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 

Here shall Joseph come in, leading an ass, on which are seated Mary and 
the Child. 

Mary. Here will we rest us under these 
O'crhanging branches of the tr 
Where robins chant their Litanies, 
And canticles of Joy. 
Joseph. My saddle-girths have given way 
With trudging through the heat to-day; 
To you I think it is but play 
To ride and hold the bow 
Mary. Hark ! how the robins bhout and sine* 
As if to hail their infant King! 
I will alight at yonder >pring 
To wash his little 
Joseph. And I will hobble well the aSS, 
Lest, being loo^e upon the 
He should im ai 

1 le is nii ible as a g 

[Hen Mary shall alight and go to (he spring.] 
Man/. () Joseph! I am much afraid, 
For men are sleeping in the shade; 
I tear that we shall be waylaid, 
And robbed and beaten sore ! 

■re a land of robbers shall be seen sleeping, two of whom shall rise and come 
forward.] 

Dumachus. Cock's soul ! deliver up your gold! 
Joseph. I pray you, Sirs, let go your hold ! 
You see that I am weak and old, 
Of wealth I have no store. 
Dumachus. Give up your money ! 

T Hf*' , Prithee c ease. 

Let these good people go in peace. 

Dumachus. First let them pay for their release 

And then go on their way. 

Titus. These forty groats I give in fee, 

If thou wilt only silent be. 



272 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Mary. May God be merciful to thee 

Upon the Judgment Day ! 
Jesus. When thirty years shall have gone by, 
I at Jerusalem shall die, 
By Jewish hands exalted high 

On the accursed tree. 
Then on my right and my left side, 
These thieves shall both be crucified, 
And Titus thenceforth shall abide 
In paradise with me. 

{Here a great rumour of trumpets and horses, like the noise of a king icith his 
army, and the rollers shall take flight.'] 

VI. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS. 

King Herod. Potz-tausend ! Himmel -sacrament ! 
Filled am I with great wonderment 

At this unwelcome news ! 
Am I not Herod ? Who shall dare 
My crown to take, my sceptre bear, 

As king among the Jews ? 
[Here he shall stride up and down and flourish his sword."] 
What ho ! I fain would drink a can 
Of the strong wine of Canaan ! 

The wine of Helbon bring, 
I purchased at the Fair of Tyre, 
As red as blood, as hot as fire, 

And fit for any king ! 

[He quaffs great gollets of wine.] 
Now at the window will I stand, 
While in the street the armed band 

The little children slay : 
The babe just born in Bethlehem 
Will surely slaughtered be with them, 

Nor live another day ! 
[Here a voice of lamentation shall le heard in the street."] 

Rachel. O wicked king ! O cruel speed. 1 ! 
To do this most unrighteous deed ! 
My children all are slain ! 
Herod. Ho, seneschal ! another cup ! 
With wine of Sorek fill it up ! 
I would a bumper drain ! 
Rahab. May maledictions fall and blast 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 273 

Thyself and lineage, to the last 
Of all thy kith and kin ! 

Herod. Another goblet ! quick ! and stir 
Pomegranate juice and drops of myrrh 
And calamus therein ! 
Soldiers (in the street). Give up thy child into our hands ! 
It is King Herod who commands 
That he should thus be slain ! 
The Nurse Medusa. O monstrous men ! What have ye 
done ! 
It is King Herod's only son 

That ye have cleft in twain ! 
Herod. Ah, luckless day ! What words of fear 
Are these that smite upon my car 

With such a doleful sound ! 
What torments rack my heart and head ! ' 
Would I were dead ! would I were dead ! 
And buried in the ground ! 

[He falls down and unifies as though eaten ly worms. Hell opens, and Satan 
and Astaroth come forth, and drag him duicn.~\ 

VII. JESUS AT PLAY WITH 1113 SCHOOLMATES. 

Jesus. The shower is over. Let us play, 
And make some BpaiTOWS out of clay, 
Down by the river's side. 
Judas. See, how the stream has overflowed 
Its banks, and o'er the meadow road 
Is spreading far and wide ! 

t'heu draw water out of the river iy channels, and form little pools. Jesus makes 
twelve sparrows of clay, and the other toys do the sanu.} 

Jesus. Look ! look ! how prettily I make 
These little sparrows by the lake 

Bend down their necks and drink ! 
Now will I make them sing and soar 
So far, they shall return no more 
Unto this river's brink. 
Judas. That canst thou not ! They are but clay, 
They cannot sing, nor fly away 
Above the meadow lands ! 
Jesus. Fly, fly! ye sparrows! you are free! 
And while you live, remember me, 
Who made you with my hands. 
| [Here Jesus shall clap his hands, and the sparrows shall fly aicay, chirruping.] 



274 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Judas. Thou art a sorcerer, I know $ 
Oft has my mother told me so, 
I will not play with thee ! 

[He strikes Jesus on the right side.] 

Jesus. Ah, Judas ! thou hast smote my side. 
And when I shall be crucified^ 
There shall I pierced be ! 

[Here Joseph shall come in, and say :] 

Joseph. Ye wicked boys ! Why do ye play, 
And break the holy Sabbath day? 
What, think ye, will your mothers say 

To see you in such plight ! 
In such a sweat and such a heat, 
With all that mud upon your feet ! 
There's not a beggar in the street 

Makes such a sorry sight ! 

VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 

The Rabbi Ben Israel, with a long beard, sitting on a high stool, with a rod 
in his hand. 

Rabbi. I am the Rabbi Ben Israel, 
Throughout this village known full well, 
And, as my scholars all will tell, 

Learned in things divine ; 
The Kabala and Talmud hoar 
Than all the prophets prize I more, 
For water is all Bible lore, 

But Mishna is strong wine. 

My fame extends from West to East, 
And always at the Purim feast, 
I am as drunk as any beast 

That wallows in his sty ; 
The wine it so elateth me, 
That I no difference can see 
Between " Accursed Haman be !" 

And "Blessed be Mordecai !" 

Come hither, Judas Iseariot. 
Say, if thy lesson thou hast got 
From the Rabbinical Book or not. 
Why howl the dogs at night ? 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 275 

Judas. In the Rabbinical Book, it saith 
The dogs howl, when, with icy breath, 
Great Sammael, the Angel of Death, 
Takes through the town his flight ! 
Rabbi. Well, boy! now say, if thou art wise, 
When the Angel of Death, who is full of eyes, 
Comes where a sick man dying lies, 

What doth he to the wight ? 
Judas. He stands beside him, dark and tall, 
Holding a sword from which doth fall 
Into his mouth a drop of gall, 
And so he turneth white. 
Rabbi. And now, my Judas, say to me 
What the great \ 1 

That quite across the world do I 
And are not heard by men ? 
Judas. The Voice of the Sun in heaven's dome, 
The Voice of the Murmuring of Rome, 
The Wr.ce of a Soul that goeth home, 
And the Angel of the Rain 1 
Rabbi. Well have ye ana* one! 

Now, little Jesus, the carpenter's son, 
Let us see how thy task is dene. 
Canst thou thy ! 
Jesus. Aleph. 

Rabbi. What next \ Do not stop yet ! 

Go on with all the alphabet. 
Come, Aleph, Beth; dost thou forget? 
Cock's soul! thou'dst rather pla '. 
./< nis. What Aleph means I fain would know, 
Before I any farther 

Rabbi. O, by St. Peter! wouldst thou so? 
Come hither, boy, to me. 
As surely as the letter Jod 
Once cried aloud, and spake to God, 
So surely shalt thou feel this rod, 
And punished shalt thou be ! 

■ Here Rabbi Ben Israel shall lift "/> his rod to strike Jesus, and his right arm 
sha!l be paralysed.] 

IX. CROWNED WITH FLOWERS. 
Jesus sitting among his playmates, crowned with flowers as their King. 
Boys. We spread our garments on the ground ! 
With fragrant flowers thv head is crowned, 



276 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

While like a guard we stand around, 

And hail thee as our King ! 
Thou art the new King of the Jews ! 
Nor let the passers-by refuse 
To bring that homage which men use 
To majesty to bring. 
{Here a traveller shall go by, and the boys shall lay hold of his garments? 
and say :] 

Boys. Come hither ! and all reverence pay 
Unto our monarch crowned to-day ! 
Then go rejoicing on your way, 
In all prosperity ! 
Traveller. Hail to the King of Bethlehem, 
Who weareth in his diadem 
The yellow crocus for the gem 
Of his authority ! 
[He passes by ; and others come in, bearing on a litter a sick child.] 
Boys. Set down the litter and draw near ! 
The King of Bethlehem is here ! 
What ails the child, who seems to fear 
That we shall do him harm ? 
The Bearers. He climbed up to the robin's nest, 
And out there darted, from his rest, 
A serpent with a crimson crest, 
And stung him in the arm. 
Jesus. Bring him to me, and let me feel 
The wounded place ; my touch can heal 
The sting of serpents, and can steal 
The poison from the bite ! 
[He touches the wound, and the boy begins to cry."] 
Cease to lament ! I can foresee 
That thou hereafter known shalt be, 
Among the men who follow me, 
As Simon the Canaanite ! 

EPILOGUE. 

In the after part of the day 
Will be represented another play, 
Of the passion of our Blessed Lord, 
Beginning directly after Nones ! 
At the close of which we shall accord, 
By way of benison and reward, 
The sight of a holy Martyr's bones ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 277 

IV. 

IThe road to Hirschau. Prince Henry and Elsie, ivith their attendants, 
on horseback. 

I Elsie. Onward and onward the highway runs to the distant city, 

impatiently bearing 
Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of hate, of doing and 

daring ! 
Prince Henry. This life of ours is a wild aeolian harp of many a 

joyous strain, 
lut under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, as of souls in pain. 
Elsie. Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart that aches and 

bleeds with the stigma 
)f pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can comprehend its 

dark enigma. 
Prince Henry. Man is selfish, and sceketh pleasure with little care 

of what may betide ; 
lse why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon that rides by an 

angel's side ? 
Elsie. All the hedges are white with dust, and the great dog under 

the creaking wain 
angs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the horses toil and 

strain. 
Prince Henry. Now they stop at the way-side inn, and the waggoner 

laughs with the landlord's daughter, 
r hile out of the dripping trough the horses distend their leathern sides 

with water. 
Elsie. All through life there are way-side inns, where man may 

refresh his soul with love ; 
ren the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed by springs from 

above. 
Prince Henry. Yonder, where rises the cross of stone, our journey 

along the highway ends, 
id over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the broad green valley 

descends. 
Elsie. I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten road with its dust 

and heat j 
*e air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer under horses' fe«t. 

[They turn down a green lane.~\ 

Isie. Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley 

stretching for miles below 
hite with blossoming cherry-trees, as if just covered with lightest 

snow. 



wh 



S ;8 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Prince Henry. Over our heads a white cascade is gleaming against 
the distant hill ; 
We cannot hear it, nor see it move, but it hangs like a banner wheni 
winds are still. 

Elsie. Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and cool the sound of the 

brook by our side ! 

What is this castle that rises above us, and lords it over a land so wide ? 

Prince Henry. It is the home of the Counts of Calva; well have I 

known these scenes of old, 

Well I remember each tower and turret, remember the brooklet, the 

wood, and the wold. 

Elsie. Hark ! from the little village below us the bells of the church 

are ringing for rain ! 

Priests and peasants in long procession come forth and kneel on the 

arid plain. 

Prince Henry. They have not long to wait, for I see in the south 

uprising a little cloud, 

That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky above us as with a 

shroud. 

[They pass onJ] 

The Convent of Hirschau in the Black Forest. The Convent cellar. Friar Claus 
comes in xcith a light and a basket of empty flagons. 

Friar Claus. I always enter this sacred place 
With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace, 
Pausing long enough on each stair 
To breathe an ejaculatory prayer, 
And a benediction on the vines 
That produce these various sorts of wines ! 

For my part, I am well content 

That we have got through with the tedious Lent ! 

Fasting is all very well for those 

Who have to contend with invisible foes ; 

But I am quite sure it does not agree 

With a quiet, peaceable man like me, 

Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind 

That are always distressed in body and mind ! 

And at times it really does me good 

To come down among this brotherhood, 

Dwelling for ever under ground, 

Silent, contemplative, round and sound; 

Each one old, and brown with mould, 

But filled to the lips with the ardour of youth, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 279 

With the latent power and love of truth. 
And with virtues fervent and manifold. 

I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide, 

When buds are swelling on every side, 

And the sap begins to move in the vine, 

Then in all the cellars, far and wide, 

The oldest, as well as the newest, wine 

Begins to stir itself, and ferment, 

With a kind of revolt and discontent 

At being so long in darkness pent, 

And fain would burst from its sombre tun 

To bask on the hill-side in the sun j 

As in the bosom of us poor friars, 

The tumult of half-subdued desires 

For the world that we have left behind 

Disturbs at times all peace of mind ! 

And now that we have lived through Lenr, 

My duty it is, as often before, 

To open awhile the prison-door. 

And give these restless Bpirita vent. 

Now here is a cask that stands alone. 

And has stood a hundred years or more, 

Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar, 

Trailing and sweeping along the floor, 

Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave, 

Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and grave, 

Till his beard has grown through the table of stone! 

It is of the quick, and not of the dead! 

Jn its veins the blood is hot and red; 

And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak 

That time may have tamed, but has not broke ! 

It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine, 

Is one of the three best kinds of wine, 

And costs some hundred florins the ohm ; 

But that I do not consider dear, 

When I remember that every year 

Four butts are sent to the Pope of Rome, 

And whenever a goblet thereof I drain, 

The old rhyme keeps running in my brain: 

At Bacharach on the Rhine, 

At Hochheim on the Main, 

And at Wurzburg on the Stein, 

Grow the three best kinds of wine! 



28o THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

They are all good wines, and better far 
Than those of the Neckar, or those of the Ahr. 
In particular, Wiirzburg well may boast 
Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost, 
Which of all wines I like the most. 
This I shall draw for the Abbot's drinking, 
Who seems to be much of my way of thinking, 

[Fills a flagon.] 

Ah ! how the streamlet laughs and sings ! 

What a delicious fragrance springs 

From the deep flagon, while it fills, 

As of hyacinths and daffodils ! 

Between this cask and the Abbot's lips 

Many have been the sips and slips ; 

Many have been the draughts of wine, 

On their way to his, that have stopped at mine ; 

And many a time my soul has hankered 

For a deep draught out of his silver tankard, 

When it should have been busy with other affairs, 

Less with its longings and more with its prayers. 

But now there is no such awkward condition, 

No danger of death and eternal perdition ; 

So here's to the Abbot and Brothers all, 

Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul ! 

[He drinks."] 

O cordial delicious ! O soother of pain ! 
It flashes like sunshine into my brain ! 
A benison rest on the Bishop who sends 
Such a fudder of wine as this to his friends ! 

And now a flagon for such as may ask 

A draught from the noble Bacharach cask, 

And I will be gone, though I know full well 

The cellar's a cheerfuller place than the celL 

; Behold where he stands, all sound and good^ 

Brown and old in his oaken hood; 

Silent he seems externally 

As any Carthusian monk may be; 

But within, what a spirit of deep unrest ! 

What a seething and simmering in his breast \ 

As if the heaving of his great heart 

Would burst his belt of oak apart ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. j 

Let me unloose this button of wood, 
And quiet a little his turbulent mood. 

[St ' it running."] 
See ! how its currents gleam and shine, 
As if they had caught the purple hues 
Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine, 
Descending and mingling with the de\ 
Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood 
Of the innocent boy, who, some years back, 
Was taken and crucified by the Jews, 
In that ancient town of Bacharach • 
Perdition upon those infidel Jews, 
In that ancient town of Bacharach ! 
The beautiful town, that gives us wine 
With the fragrant odour of Muscadine! 
I should deem it wrong to let this pass 
Without first touching my lips to the 

For here in the midst of the- current 1 stand, 
Like the stone Pt.il/. in the midst of the river, 

Taking toll upon either hand, 

And much more grateful to the giver. 

[//<• drinks,"] 
Here, now, is a very inferior kind, 
Such as in any town you may find, 
Such as one might imagine would suit 
The rascal who drank wine out of a boot. 
And, after all, it was not a crime, 
For he won thereby Dorf Huffelsheim. 
A jolly old toper! who at a pull 
Could drink a postilion's jack-boot full, 
And ask with a laugh, when that was done, 
If the fellow had left the other one ! 
This wine is as good as we can afford 
To the friars, who sit at the lower board, 
And cannot distinguish bad from good, 
And are far better off than if they could, 
Being rather the rude disciples of beer, 
Than of anything more refined and dear ! 
[Fills the other flagon and departs,] 

The Scriptorium, Fhiar Pacif.cus transcribing and illuminating. 

Friar Pacjjicus. It is growing dark ! Yet one line more, 
And then my work for to-day is o'er. 



282 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

I come again to the name of the Lord ! 
Ere I that awful name record, 
That is spoken so lightly among men, 
Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen 3 
Pure from blemish and blot must it be 
When it writes that word of mystery ! 

Thus have I laboured on and on, 

Nearly through the Gospel of John. 

Can it be that from the lips 

Of this same gentle Evangelist, 

That Christ himself perhaps has kissed, 

Came the dread Apocalypse ! 

It has a very awful look, 

As it stands there at the end of the book, 

Like the sun in an eclipse. 

Ah me ! when I think of that vision divine., 

Think of writing it, line by line, 

I stand in awe of the terrible curse, 

Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse. 

God forgive me ! if ever I 

Take aught from the book of that Prophecy, 

Lest my part too should be taken away 

From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day, 

This is well written, though I say it ! 
I should not be afraid to display it, 
In open day, on the selfsame shelf 
With the writings of St. Thecla herself, 
Or of Theodosius, who of old 
Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold ! 
That goodly folio standing yonder, 
Without a single blot or blunder, 
Would not bear away the palm from mine, 
If we should compare them line for line. 

There, now, is an initial letter ! 
Saint Ulric himself never made a better.' 
Finished down to the leaf and the snaii, 
Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail ! 
And now, as I turn the volume over, 
And see what lies between cover and cover 
What treasures of heart these pages hold, 
Ail ablaze with crimson and srold, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND, 283 

God forgive me ! I seem to feel . 
A certain satisfaction steal 
Into my heart, and into my brain, 

my talent had not lain 
Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain. 
Yes, J might almost say to the Lurd, 
Here is a copy of thy Word, 
Written (nit uiih much toil and pain; 
Take it, O Lord, and let it be 
As something I have done for ti., 

[Ih looks J'rum the window."] 
How sweet the air Is! How fair the scene! 
I wish I had as Lovely a gn c\ 
To paint my landscapes and my Li 
How the swallows twitter under the eaves! 
There, now, there is one in her nest : 
1 can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast, 
And will sketch her thus in her quiet nook, 
For the margin, • pel b ok. 

[//c //. 
I can see no more. Through the valley yonder 
A shower is passing ; 1 hear the thunder 

Mutter in curses in ii. 
The Devil's own and only prayer] 
The dusty road is brown with rain, 
And, ind main, 

I [itherward llant train. 

They do not parley, they cannot wait, 

But hurry in at the convent - 
AVliat a fair lady ! and beside her 
What a handsome, graceful, noble rider! 
Now she gives him her hand to alight; 
They will beg shcln r lor the night. 
I will go down to the corridor, 
And try to .see that face once more; 
It will do for the face ofsome beautiful Saint, 
Or for one of the V I -hall paint. 

[c; 1 out.] 

The Cloisters. The Abbot Eunestus pacing to andjro. 

Allot. Slowly, slow Iv up the wall 
Steals the sunshine, steals the shade; 



284 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Evening damps begin to fall, 
Evening shadows are displayed. 
Round me, o'er me, everywhere, 
All the sky is grand with clouds, 
And athwart the evening air 
Wheel the swallows home in crowds. 
Shafts of sunshine from the west 
Paint the dusky windows red ; 
Darker shadows, deeper rest, 
Underneath and overhead. 
Darker, darker, and more wan, 
In my breast the shadows fall ; 
Upward steals the life of man, 
As the sunshine from the wall. 
From the wall into the sky, 
From the roof along the spire ; 
Ah, the souls that die 
Are but sunbeams lifted higher. 

Enter Prince Henry. 

Prince Henry. Christ is arisen ! 

Allot. Amen ! he is arisen ! 

His peace be with you ! 

Prince Henry. Here it reigns for ever. 

The peace of God that passeth understanding, 
Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors. 
Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the convent ? 

Allot. I am. 

Prince Henry. And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck, 
Who crave your hospitality to-night. 

Allot. You are thrice welcome to our humble walls. 
You do us honour 5 and we shall requite it, 
I fear, but poorly, entertaining you 
With Paschal eggs, and our poor convent wine, 
The remnants of our Easter holidays. 

Prince Henry. How fares it with the holy monks of 
Hirschau ? 
Are all things well with them ? 

Allot. All things are well. 

Prince Henry. A noble convent ! I have known it long 
By the report of travellers. I now see 
Their commendations lag behind the truth. 
You lie here in the valley of the Nagold 
As in a nest : and the still river, gliding 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND, 283 

Along its bed, is like an admonition 
How all things pass. Your lands are rich and ample, 
And your revenues large. God's benediction 
Rests on your convent. 

Allot. By our charities 

We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master, 
When he departed, left us, in his will, 
As our best legacy on earth, the poor ! 
These we have always with us ; had we not, 
Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones. 

Prince Henry. If I remember right, the Counts of Calva 
Founded your convent. 

Allot. Even as you say. 

Prince Henry. And, if I err not, it is very old. 

Allot. Within these cloisters lie already buried 
Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the flags 
On which we stand, the Abbot William lies, 
Of blessed memory. 

Prince Henry. And whose tomb is that 

Which bears the brass escutcheon ; 

Allot. A benefactor's, 

Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood 
Godfather to our bells. 

Prince Henry. Your monks are learned 

And holy men, I trust. 

Abbot. There are among them 

Learned and holy men. Yet in this age 
We need another Hildebrand, to shake 
And purify us like a mighty wind. 
The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder 
God does not lose his patience with it wholly, 
And shatter it like glass ! Even here, at times, 
Within these walls, where all should be at peace, 
I have my trials. Time has laid his hand 
Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, 
But as a harper lays his open palm 
Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations. 
Ashes are on my head, and on my lips 
Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness 
And weariness of life, that makes me ready 
To say to the dead Abbots under us, 
"Make room for me !" Only I see the dusk 
Of evening twilight coming, and have not 
Completed half my task ; and so at times 



286 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

The thought of my shortcomings in this life 
Falls like a shadow on the life to come. 

Prince Henry. We must all die, and not the old alone 5 
The young have no exemption from that doom. 

Allot. Ah, yes ! the young may die, but the old must ! 
That is the difference. 

Prince Henry. I have heard much laud 

Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium 
Is famous among all, your manuscripts 
Praised for their beauty and their excellence. 

Allot. That is indeed our boast. If you desire it. 
You shall behold these treasures. And meanwhile 
Shall the Refectorarius bestow 
Your horses and attendants for the night. 
[They go in. The Vesper-bell rings.'] 

The Chapel. Vespers ; after which the monks retire, a chorister leading a?i 
old monk icho is blind. 

Prince Henry. They are all gone, save one who lingers, 
Absorbed in deep and silent prayer. 
As if his heart could find no rest, 
At times he beats his heaving breast 
"With clenched and convulsive fingers, 
Then lifts them trembling in the air. 
A chorister, with golden hair, 
Guides hitherward his heavy pace. 
Can it be so ! Or does my sight 
Deceive me in the uncertain light ? 
Ah no ! I recognise that face, 
Though Time has touched it in his flight, 
And changed the auburn hair to white. 
It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, 
The deadliest foe of all our race, 
And hateful unto me and mine ! 

The Blind Monk Who is it that doth stand so near, 
His whispered words I almost hear ? 

Prince Henry. I am Prince Henrv of Hoheneck, 
And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine ! 
I know V0U) a nd I see the scar, 
The brand upon your forehead, shine 
And redden like a baleful star ! 

The Blind Monk. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck 
Of what I was. O Hoheneck' 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 2 3y 

The passionate will, the pride, the wrath 
That bore me headlong on my path, 
Stumbled and staggered into tear, 
And failed me in my mad career, 
As a tired steed some evil-doer, 
Alone upon a desolate moor, 
Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, 
And hearing loud and close behind 
The Overtaking steps of his pursuer. 
Then suddenly from the dark there came 
A voice that called me by my name, 
And said to me, " Kneel down and pray !" 
And so my terror passed away, 
Passed utterly away for ever. 
Contrition, penitence, remorse, 
Came on me with o'erwhelming force \ 
A hope, a longing, an endeavour, 
By da) s of pi nance and nights of prayer, 
To frustrate and defeat despair ! 

Calm, deep, and still is now my Ik art, 
With tranquil water-, overflowed; 
A lake whose unseen fountains start, 

Where once the hot volcano glowed. 

And you, O Prince of Holn ; 

Have known me in that earlier time, 

A man of violence and crime, 

Whose passions brooked no curb lior check. 

Behold me now, in gentler mood, 

One of this holy brotherhood. 

Give me your hand; here let me kneel ; 

Make your reproaches sharp as stee 1 ; 

Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek; 

No violence can harm the meek, 

There is no wound Christ cannot heal ! 

Yes ; lift your princely hand, and take 

Revenue, if 'tis revenge you seek; 

Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake ! 

Prince Henry. Arise, Count Hugo ! let there be 
No farther strife nor enmity 
Between us twain ; w r e both have erred ! 
Too rash in act, too wroth in word, 
From the beginning have we stood 
In tierce, defiant attitude, 
Each thoughtless of the other's right, 



288 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And each reliant on his might. 
But now our souls are more subdued ; 
The hand of God, and not in vain, 
Has touched us with the fire of pain. 
Let us kneel down, and side by side 
Pray, till our souls are purified, 
And pardon will not be denied ! 
[They kneel."] 

The Refectory. Gaudiolum of Monks at mid?iight. Lucifer disguised as a Friar, 

Friar Paul (sings). 

Ave ! color vini clari, 
Dulcis pot us, non amari, 
Tua nos inebriari 
Digneris potentia ! 

Friar Cuthlert. Not so much noise, my worth freres^ 
You'll disturb the Abbot at his prayers. 

Friar Paul (sings). 

O ! quam placens in colore ! 

O ! quam fragrans in odore ! 

O ! quam sapidum in ore ! 

Dulce linguae vinculum ! 

Friar Cuthbert. I should think your tongue had broken its 
chain ! 

Friar Paul (sings). 
Felix venter quern intrabis ! 
Felix guttur quod rigabis ! 
Felix os quod tu lavabis ! 
Et beata labia ! 

Friar Cuthlert. Peace ! I say, peace ! 
Will you never cease ! 
You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell you again ! 

Friar John. No danger ! to-night he will let us alone, 
As I happen to know he has guests of his own. 

Friar Cuthbert. Who are they? 

Friar John. A German Prince and his trail 

Who arrived here just before the rain. 
There is with him a damsel fair to see, 
As slender and graceful as a reed ! 
When she alighted from her steed, 
It seemed like a blossom blown from a tree. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 289 

Friar Cuthlert. None of your pale-faced girls for me ! 

None of your damsels of high degree! 

Friar John. Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg ! 

But do not drink any farther, I beg ! 

Friar Paul {sin 

In the days of gold, 
The days of old, 
Crazier of wood 
And bishop of gold ' 

Friar Cuthlert. What an infernal racket and riot ! 
Can you not drink your wine in quiet ? 
Why fill the convent with such scandals 
As if we were so many drunken Vanda 

Friar Paul (continues I, 

Now we have 1 
That law so good, 
To crazier ol gold 
And bishop of wood ! 

Friar Cuthlert. Well, then, since you are in the D 
To give your noisy humours vent, 
Sing and howl to your heart's content ! 

Chorus of Monks. 

Funde vinum, funde ! 
Tanquam sint tiuminis undx, 
Nee quaeras unde, 
Sed fund as semper abunde ! 

Trior John. What is the name of yonder friar, 
With an eve that glows like a coal of fire, 
And such a black mass of tangled hair? 

Friar Paul. He who is sitting there, 
With a rollicking, 
Devil may care, 
Free and easy look and air, 
As if he were used to such feasting and frolicking? 

Friar John. The same. 

Friar Paul. He's a stranger. You had better ask his name, 
And where he is going, and whence he came. 

Friar John. Hallo! Sir Friar! 

Friar Paul. You must raise your voice a little higher; 



apo 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 
He does not seem to hear what you say. 
Now, try again ! He is looking this way. 

Friar John. Hallo ! Sir Friar, 
"We wish to inquire 

Whence you came, and where you are going, 
And anything else that is worth the knowing. 
So be so good as to open your head. 

Lucifer. I am a Frenchman born and bred, 
Going on a pilgrimage to Rome. 
My home 

Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys, 
Of which, very like, you never have heard. 

Monks. Never a word ! 

Lucifer. You must know, then, it is in the diocese 
Called the Diocese of Vannes, 
In the province of Brittany. 
From the grey rocks of Morbihan 
It overlooks the angry sea; 
The very sea-shore where, 
In his great despair, 
Abbot Abelard walked to and fro, 
Filling the night with woe, 
And wailing aloud to the merciless seas 
The name of his sweet Heloise ! 
"Whilst overhead 

The convent windows gleamed as red 
As the fiery eyes of the monks within 
"Who with jovial din 
Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin ! 
Ha ! that is a convent ! that is an abbey ! 
Over the doors 

None of your death-heads carved in wood, 
None of your Saints looking pious and good 9 
None of your Patriarchs old and shabby ! 
But the heads and tusks of boars, 
And the cells 

Hung all round with the fells 
Of the fallow-deer. 
And then what cheer ! 
What jolly, fat friars, 
Sitting round the great, roaring fires, 
Roaring louder than they, 
With their strong wines, 
And their concubines 5 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 2 gi 

And never a bell, 
With its swagger and swell, 
Calling you up with a start of affright 
In the dead ot night, 
To send you grumbling down dark stairs, 
To mumble your prayi 
But the cheery crow 
Of cocks in the yard below, 
After daybreak, an hour or 
And the barking of deep-mouthed houiuU 
These are the sounds 
That, instead of bells, salute the ear. 
And then all day 
Up and away 

Through the forest, hunting the deer! 
Ah, my friends ! I'm afraid that here 
You are a little too pious, a little too tame, 
And the more is the shame. 
'Tis the greatest folly 
Not to In- jolty ; 
That's what I think ! 
Come, drink, drink, 
Drink, and die game ! 

Monks. And your Abbot ^Yhat's-lns-name? 

Lucifer. Abelard ! 

Monks. Did he drink hard ? 

Lucifer. ( ), no ! Not he ! 
He was a dry old fellow 

Without juice enough to get thoroughly mellow. 
There he stood, 
Lowering at us in sullen mood. 
As if he had come into Brittany 
Just to reform our brotherhood ! 

\A roar of laughter.'] 

But you see 

It never would do ! 

For some of us knew a thing or two, 

In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys ! 

For instance, the great ado 

With old Fulbert's niece, 

The young and lovely Heloise ! 

Friar John. Stop there, if you please, 
Till we drink to the fair Heloise. 



2$2 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 
All (drinking and shouting). Heloise ! Heioisel 
[The Chapel-bell tolls.'] 

Lucifer (starting). "What is that bell for ? Are you such asses 
As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses ? 

Friar Cuthbert. It is only a poor, unfortunate brother, 
Who is gifted with most miraculous powers 
Of getting up at all sorts of hours, 
And, by way of penance and Christian meekness, 
Of creeping silently out of his cell 
To take a pull at that hideous bell j 
So that all the monks who are lying awake 
May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake, 
And adapted to his peculiar weakness ! 

Friar John. From frailty and fall — 

All. Good Lord, deliver us all ! 

Friar Cuthbert. And before the bell for matins sounds, 
He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds, 
Flashing it into our sleepy eyes, 
Merely to say it is time to arise. 
But enough of that. Go on, if you please, 
With your story about St. Gildas de Rhuys. 

Lucifer. Well, it finally came to pass 
That, half in fan and half in malice, 
One Sunday at Mass 
We put some poison into the chalice. 
But, either by accident or design, 
Peter Abelard kept away 
From the chapel that day, 
And a poor, young friar, who in his stead 
Drank the sacramental wine, 
Fell on the steps of the altar, dead ! 
But look ! do you see at the window there 
That face, with a look of grief and despair, 
That ghastly face, as of one in pain ? 

Monks. Who? where? 

Lucifer. As I spoke, it vanished away again. 

Friar Cuthbert. It is that nefarious 
Siebald the Refectorarius. 
That fellow is always playing the scout, 
Creeping and peeping and prowling about ; 
And then he regales 
The Abbot with scandalous tales. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. *93 

Lucifer. A spy in the convent ? One of the brothers 
Telling scandalous talcs or the others \ 
Out upon him, the lazy loon ! 
I would put a stop to that pretty soon, 
In a way he should rue it. 

Monks. How shall we do it ? 

Lucifer. Do you, Brother Paul, 
Creep under the window close to the wall, 
And open it suddenly when I call. 
Then seize the villain by the hair, 
And hold him there, 
And punish him soundly, once for all. 

Friar Cuthbert. As St. Deinstall of old, 
We are told, 
Once caught the Devil by the nose ! 

Lucifer. Ha! ha! that story is veiy clever, 
But has no foundation whatsoever 
Quick ! for I see his nice again 
Glaring in at the window-pane; 
Now ! now ! and do not spare your blows. 

[Friar Paul opens the window suddcdlij, and seizes Sildald. They lent him.'] 

Friar Siebald. Help! help! arc yen going to slay me? 

Friar Paul. That will teach you again to betray me! 
Friar Siebald. Mercy! mercy! 

Friar Paul (shouting and ieating). 

Rumpas lxllorum loruin, 
Vim confer amorum 
Morum verorum rorum 
Tu plena polorum ! 

Lucifer. Who stands in the doorway yonder, 
Stretching out his trembling hand, 
Just as Abelard used to stand, 
The flash of his keen, black eyes 
Forerunning the thund< r? 

The Monks (in confusion). The Abbot! the Abbot! 

Friar Cuthbert And what is the wonder 

He seems to have taken you by surprise. 

Friar Francis. Hide the great rlagon 
From the eyes of the dragon ! 



294 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Friar Cuthbert. Pull the brown hood over your face 1 
This will bring us into disgrace I 

Allot. What means this revel and carouse 
Is this a tavern and drinking house ? 
Are you Christian monks, or heathen devils,, 
To pollute this convent with your revels ? 
Were Peter Damian still upon earth, 
To be shocked by such ungodly mirth, 
He would write your names, with pen of gall, 
In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all ! 
Away, you drunkards ! to your cells, 
And pray till you hear the matin-bells ; 
You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother Paul ! 
And as a penance mark each prayer 
With the scourge upon your shoulders bare -, 
Nothing atones for such a sin 
But the blood that follows the discipline. 
And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me 
Alone into the sacristy ; 

You, who should be a guide to your brothers, 
And are ten times worse than all the others, 
For you I've a draught that has long been brewing, 
You shall do a penance worth the doing ! 
Away to your prayers, then, one and all ! 
I wonder the very convent wall 
Does not crumble and crush you in its fall ! 

The neighbouring Nunnery. The Abbess Irmingard e?Mi&g with E-!«si?' in 
the moonlight. 

Irmingard. The night is silent, the wiad is still. 
The moon is looking from yonder hill 
Down upon convent, and grove, and garden 
The clouds have passed away from her face, 
Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace, 
Only the tender and quiet grace 
Of one whose heart has been healed with pardon ! 
And such am I. My soul within 
Was dark with passion and soiled with sin. 
But now its wounds are healed again ; 
Gone are the anguish, the terror, and pain; 
For across that desolate land of woe, 
O'er whose burning sands I was forced to go, 
i A wind from heaven began to blow; 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND 295 

And all my being trembled and shook, 
As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of the field, 
And I was healed, as the sick are healed, 
When fanned by the leaves of the Holy Book ! 

As thou sittest in the moonlight \h 

Its glory flooding thy golden hair, 

And the only darkness that which 

In the haunted chambers of thine t 

I feel my soul drawn unto i 

Strangely, and strongly, and more and more, 

As to one 1 have known and loved before ; 

I .try soul is akin to me 

That dwells in the land of mystery ! 

I am the Lady Irmingard, 

Born of a noble race and name ! 

Many a wandering Suabian bard, 

Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and hard, 

II as found through me the way to fame. 

Brief and bright were those days, and the D 

Which followed was foil of a lurid light. 

Love, that of every woman's heart 
Will have the whole, and not a part, 
That is to her, in Nature's plan, 
More than ambition i^ to man, 
Her light, r very breath, 

With no alternative ba; death, 
Found me a ma 

Just from the convent's cloistered school, 

And seated on my lowly .stool, 
Attentive while the minstrels sung.. 
Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, 
Fairest, noblest, best of all, 

Was Walter of the Vogelweid ; 

And, whatsoever may betide, 

Still I think of him with pride] 

His song was of the summer-time, 

The very birds sang in his rhyme ; 

The sunshine, the delicious air, 

The fragrance of the flowers were there; 

And I grew restless as 1 heard, 

Restless and buoyant as a bird, 

Down soft, aerial currents sailing, 

O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom, 



296 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

And through the momentary gloom 
Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing, 
Yielding and borne I knew not where, 
But feeling resistance unavailing. 

And thus, unnoticed and apart, 
And more by accident than choice, 
I listened to that single voice 
Until the chambers of my heart 
Were filled with it by night and day. 
One night, — it was a night in May, — 
Within the garden, unawares, 
Under the blossoms in the gloom, 
I heard it utter my own name 
With protestations and wild prayers $ 
And it rang through me and became 
Like the archangel's trump of doom, 
Which the soul hears, and must obey. 
And mine arose as from a tomb. 
My former life now seemed to me 
Such as hereafter death may be, 
When in the great Eternity 
We shall awake and find it day. 

It was a dream and would not stay ; 

A dream, that in a single night 

Faded and vanished out of sight. 

My father's anger followed fast 

This passion, as a freshening blast 

Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage 

It may increase but not assuage. 

And he exclaimed : "No wandering bard 

Shall win thy hand, O Irmingard ! 

For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck 

By messenger and letter sues." 

Gently, but firmly, I replied : 
" Henry of Hoheneck I discard ! 
Never the hand of Irmingard 
Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride !" 
This said I, Walter, for thy sake ; 
This said I, for I could not choose. 
After a pause, my father spake 
In that cold and deliberate tone 
Which turns the hearer into stone, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 297 

And seems itself the act to be 
That follows with such dread certainty ; 
" This, or the cloister and the veil !" 
No other words than these he said. 
But they were like a funeral wail; 
My life was ended, my heart was dead. 

That night from the castle-gate went down, 
With silent, slow, and stealthy pace, 
Two shadows, mounted on shadowy si- 
Taking the narrow path that leads 
Into the forest dense and brown. 
In the leafy darkness of the place, 
One could not distinguish form nor face, 
Only a bulk without a shape, 
A darker shadow in the shade ; 
One scarce could say it moved or stayed. 
Thus it was we made our es< 
A foaming brook, with many a bound, 
Followed us like a playful hound; 
Then leaped before us, and in the hollow, 
Paused, and waited for us to i How, 
And seemed impatient, and afraid, 
Thai our tardy flight should be bit rayed 
By the sound our horses' hoof-bea 

And when we reached the plain below, 

We paused a moment and drew rein 
To look back at the castle again j 
And we saw the windows all aglow 
With lights, that were passing to and fro; 
Our hearts with terror ceased to beat j 
The brook crept silent to our feet ; 
We knew what most we feared to know. 
Then suddenly horns began to blow; 
And we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp, 
And our horses snorted in the damp 
Night air of the meadows green and wide, 
And in a moment, side by side, 
So close, they must have seemed but one, 
The shadows across the moonlight run, 
And another came, and swept behind, 
Like the shadow of clouds betore the wind! 



29 8 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

How I remember that breathless flight 
Across the moors, in the summer night ! 
How under our feet the long, white road 
Backward like a river flowed, 
Sweeping with it fences and hedges - 3 
Whilst farther away, and overhead, 
Paler than I, with fear and dread, 
The moon fled with us, as we fled 
Along the forest's jagged edges ! 

All this I can remember well) 

But of what afterwards befell 

I nothing farther can recall 

Than a blind, desperate, headlong fall \ 

The rest is a blank and darkness all. 

When I awoke out of this swoon, 

The sun was shining, not the moon, 

Making a cross upon the wall 

With the bars of my windows narrow and tall j 

And I prayed to it as I had been wont to pray a 

From early childhood, day by day, 

Each morning, as in bed I lay ! 

I was lying again in my own room ! 

And I thanked God, in my fever and pain, 

That those shadows on the midnight plain 

Were gone, and could not come again ! 

I struggled no longer with my doom ! 

This happened many years ago. 
I left my father's home to come 
Like Catherine to her martyrdom, 
For blindly I esteemed it so. 
And when I heard the convent-door 
Behind me close, to ope no more, 
I felt it smite me like a blow. 
Through all my limbs a shudder ran, 
And on my bruised spirit fell 
The dampness of my narrow cell 
As night air on a wounded man. 
Giving intolerable pain. 

But now a better life began. 

I felt the agony decrease 

By slow degrees, then wholly cease ? 

Ending in perfect rest and peace ! 



THE GOLD EX LEGEND. 299 

It was not apathy, nor dulness, 
That weighed and pressed upon my brain, 
But the same passion I had given 
To earth before, now turned to heaven 
With all its overflowing fulness. 

Alas ! the world is full of peril ! 

The path that runs through the fairest meads. 

On the sunniest side of the valley, leads 

Into a region bleak and sterile ! 

Alike in the high-born and the lowly, 

The will is feeble, and passion strong. 

We cannot sever right from wrong; 

Some falsehood mingles Math all truth; 

Nor is it strange the heart of youth 

Should waver and comprehend but slowly 

The things that are holy and unholy. 

But in this sacred and calm rfetf 

We are all Well and saklv shielded 

From winds that blow, and Waves that beat, 

From the cold, and rain, and blighting heat, 

To which the strongest hearts have yielded. 

Here we stand as the Virgins Seven, 

For our celestial bridegroom yearning; 
Our heart are lamps for ever bun 
With a steady and unwavering flame, 

Pointing Upward, for ever the B line, 
Steadily upward toward the Heaven! 

The moon is hidden behind a cloud j 

A sudden darkness tills the room, 

And thy deep eyv<, amid the gloom, 

Shine like jewels in a shroud. 

On the leaves is a sound of falling rain ; 

A bird, awakened in its nest, 

Gives a faint twitter of unrest. 

Then smooths its plumes and sleeps again. 

No other sounds than these I hear; 

The hour of midnight must be near. 

Thou art o'erspent with the day's fatigue 

Of riding many a dusty league j 

Sink, then, gently, to thy slumber j 

Me so many cares encumber, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 
So many ghosts, and forms of fright, 
Have started from their graves to-night, 
They have driven sleep from mine eyes away ; 
I will go down to the chapel and pray. 



A covered Bridge at Lucerne. 

Prince Henry. God's blessing on the architects who build 
The bridges o'er swift rivers and abysses 
Before impassable to human feet, 
No less than on the builders of cathedrals, 
Whose massive walls are bridges thrown across 
The dark and terrible abyss of Death. 
Well has the name of Pontifex been given 
Unto the Church's head, as the chief builder 
And architect of the invisible bridge 
That leads from earth to heaven. 

Elsie. How dark it grows ! 

What are these paintings on the walls around us ? 

Prince Henry. The Dance Macabar ! 

Elsie. What? 

Prince Henry. The Dance of Death 

All that go to and fro must look upon it, 
Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath, 
Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river 
Rushes impetuous as the river of life, 
With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright, 
Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it. 

Elsie. O, yes ! I see it now ! 

Prince Henry. The grim musician 

Leads all men through the mazes of that dance, 
To different sounds in different measures moving $ 
Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum, 
To tempt or terrify. 

Elsie. What is this picture ? 

Prince Henry. It is a young man singing to a nun, 
Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling 
Turns round to look at him ; and Death, meanwhile. 
Is putting out the candles on the altar ! 

Elsie. Ah, what a pity 'tis that she should listen 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 301 

Unto such songs, when in her orisons 
She might have heard in heaven the angels singing ! 

Prince Henry. Here he has stolen a jester's cap and bells, 
And dances with the Queen. 

Elsie. A foolish jest ! 

Prince Henry. And here the heart of the new-wedded wife, 
Coming from church with her beloved lord, 
He stardes with the rattle of his drum. 

Elsie. Ah, that is sad ! And yet perhaps 'tis best 
That she should die, with all the sunshine on her, 
And all the benedictions of the morning, 
Before this affluence of golden light 
Shall fade into a cold and clouded grey, 
Then into darkness ! 

Prince Henry. Under it is written, 

" Nothing but death shall separate thee and me !" 

Elsie. And what is this that follows dose upon it ? 

Prince Henry. Death, playing on a dulcimer. Behind him, 
A poor old woman, with a ro 
Follows the sound, and seems to wish her feet 
Were swifter to o'ertake him. Underneath, 
The inscription reads, " Better is Death than Life." 

Elsie. Better i-> Death than Lite! Ah, yes! to thousands 
Death plays upon a dull inter, and sings 
That song of consolation, till the air 
Rings with it, and they Cannot choose but follow 
Whither he leads. And not the old alone, 
But the young also hear it, and are Still. 

Prince Henry. Yes, in their sadder moments. 'Tis the BOUnd 
Of their own hearts they hear, half lull of tears, 
Which are like crystal cups, half tilled with water, 
Responding to the pressure of a finger 
With music sweet and low and melancholy. 
Let us go forward, and no longer stay 
In this great picture-gallery of Death ! 
I hate it ! ay, the very thought of it ! 

Elsie. Why is it hateful to you ? 

Prince Henry. For the reason 

That life, and all that speaks of life, is lovely, 
And death, and all that speaks of death, is hateful. 

Elsie. The grave itself is but a covered bridge, 
Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness ! 

Prince Henry (emerging from the bridge). I breathe again more 
freely ! Ah, how pleasant 



302 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

To come once more into the light of day, 
Out of that shadow of death ! To hear again 
The hoof-beats of our horses on firm ground, 
And not upon those hollow planks, resounding 
With a sepulchral echo, like the clods 
On coffins in a churchyard ! Yonder lies 
The Lake of the Four Forest-Towns, apparelled 
In light, and lingering, like a village maiden, 
Hid in the bosom of her native mountains, 
Then pouring all her life into another's, 
Changing her name and being ! Overhead, 
Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air, 
Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines. 
[They pass on.~] 

The Devil's Bridge. Prince Henry and Elsie crossing, u-ith attendants. 

Guide. This bridge is called the Devil's Bridge. 
With a single arch, from ridge to ridge, 
It leaps across the terrible chasm 
Yawning beneath us, black and deep, 
As if, in some convulsive spasm, 
The summits of the hills had cracked, 
And made a road for the cataract, 
That raves and rages down the steep ! 

Lucifer (under the Iridge). Ha! ha! 

Guide. Never any bridge but this 
Could stand across the wild abyss ; 
All the rest, of wood or stone, 
By the Devil's hand were overthrown. 
He toppled crags from the precipice, 
And whatsoe'er was built by day 
In the night was swept away; 
None could stand but this alone. 

Lucifer (under the Iridge). Ha! ha! 

Guide. I showed you in the valley a boulder 
Marked with the imprint of his shoulder; 
As he was bearing it up this way, 
A peasant, passing, cried, " Herr Je!" 
And the Devil dropped it in his fright, 
And vanished suddenly cut of sight ! 

Lucifer (under the bndge). Ha! ha! 

Guide. Abbot Giraldus of Emsiedel, 
For pilgrims on their way to Rome, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND, 303 

Built this at last, with a single arch, 
Under which, on its endless march, 
Runs the river, white with foam, 
Like a thread through the eye of a needle. 
And the Devil promised to let it stand, 
Under compact and condition 
That the first living thing which crossed 
Should be surrendered into his hand, 
And be beyond redemption lost. 

Lucifer (under the bridge). Ha! ha! perdition! 

Guide. At length, the bridge being all completed, 
The Abbot, standing at its head, 
Threw across it a loaf of br 
Which a hungry dog sprang after, 
And the rocks re-echoed with peals of laughter 

To see the Devil thus defeated ! 

[They puss dii.I 

Lucifer (under the bridge). Ha! ha! defeated! 

For journeys and for crimen like this 
I let the bridge stand o'er the al 

The St. Gotkard Pass. 

Prince Henri/. This is the highest point. Two ways t! 

Leap d<nvn to dirTerenl seas, and 

Grow deep and still, ami their majestic presence 

Becomes a benefaction to the towns 

They visit, wandering silently among them, 

Like patriarchs old among their shining tents. 

Elsie. How bleak and bare it is! Nothing but mosses 
Grow on these rocks. 

Prince Henry. Yet arc they not forgotten ; 

Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them. 

Elsie. See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft 
So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away 
Over the snowy peaks! It seems to me 
The body of St. Catherine, borne by angels ! 

Prince Henry. Thou art St. Catherine, and invisible angels 
Bear thee across these charms and preci] 
Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against a stone! 

Elsie. Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was, 
Upon angelic shoulders! Even now 
I seem uplifted by them, light as air! 
What sound is that > 



304 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Prince Henry. The tumbling avalanches! 

Elsie. How awful, yet how beautiful ! 

Prince Henry. These are 

The voices of the mountains ! Thus they ope 
Their snowy lips, and speak unto each other, 
In the primeval language, lost to man. 

Elsie. What land is this that spreads itself beneath us ? 

Prince Henry. Italy ! Italy ! 

Elsie. Land of the Madonna ' 

How beautiful it is ! It seems a garden 
Of Paradise ! 

Prince Henry. Nay, of Gethsemane 
To thee and me, of passion and of prayer ! 
Yet once of Paradise. Long years ago 
I wandered as a youth among its bowers, 
And never from my heart has faded quite 
Its memory, that, like a summer sunset, 
Encircles with a ring of purple light 
All the horizon of my youth ! 

Guide. O friends ! 

The days are short, the way before us long 5 
We must not linger, if we think to reach 
The inn at Belinzona before vespers ! 

{They pass onJ\ 

At the Foot of the Alps. A halt under the trees at noon. 

Prince Henry. Here let us pause a moment in the trembling 
Shadow and sunshine of the road-side trees, 
And, our tired horses in a group assembling, 
Inhale long draughts of this delicious breeze. 
Our fleeter steeds have distanced our attendants ; 
They lag behind us with a slower pace ; 
We will await them under the o-reen pendants 
Of the great willows in this shady place. 
Ho, Barbarossa ! how thy mottled haunches 
Sweat with this canter over hill and glade ! 
Stand still, and let these overhanging branches 
Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee with shade ! 

Elsie. What a delightful landscape spreads before us, 
Marked with a whitewashed cottage here and there I 
And, in luxuriant garlands drooping o'er us, 
Blossoms of grape-vines scent the sunny air. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 305 

Prince Henry. Hark ! what sweet sounds are those, whose 
accents holy 
Fill the warm noon wirh music sad and sweet ? 

Elsie. It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly 
On their long journey, with uncovered feet. 

Pilgrims (chanting the Hymn of St. Hildebert). 

Me receptet Sion ilia, 
Sion David, urbs tranquilla, 
Cujus faber auctor Incis, 
Cujus portae lignum cruris, 
Cujus claves lingua Petri, 
Cujus cives semper lasti, 
Cujus muri lapis vivus. 
Cujus custoa Rex festivus ! 

Lucifer (as a Friar in the I. Here am 1, too, in the 

pious band, 

In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite dn 

The soles of my feet are aa hard and tanned 
As the conscience of old Pope Hildebrand, 
The Holy Satan, who made the w 
Of the bishops lead such shameful Lives. 

All day long I beat my breast, 

And chant with a most particular zest 

The Latin hymns, which I understand 

Quite as well, I think, as the rest. 

And at night such lodging in barns and sheds, 

Such a hurly-burly in country inns, 

Such a clatter of tongues in empty heads, 

Such a helter-skelter of prayer-, and sins I 

Of all the contrivances of the time 

For sowing broadcast the seeds of crime, 

There is none so pleasing to me and mine 

As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine ! 

Prince Henry. If from the outward man we judge the inner, 
And cleanliness is godliness, I fear 
A hopeless reprobate, a hardened sinner, 
Must be that Carmelite now passing near. 

Lucifer. There is my German Prince again., 
Thus far on his journey to Salem, 
And the love-sick girl, whose heated brain 
Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain ; 
But it's a long road that has no turn ! 



306 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 
Let them quietly hold their way, 
I have also a part in the play. 
But first I must act to my heart's content 
This mummery and this merriment, 
And drive this motley flock of sheep 
Into the fold, where drink and sleep 
The jolly old friars of Benevent. 
Of a truth, it often provokes me to laugh 
To see these beggars hobble along, 
Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff, 
Chanting their wonderful piff and pafF, 
And, to make up for not understanding the song, 
Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong ! 
Were it not for my magic garters and staff; 
And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff, 
And the mischief I make in the idle throng, 
I should not continue tne business long. 

Pilgrims {chanting). 
In hac urbe, lux solennis, 
Ver aeternum, pax perennis 5 
In hac odor implens caelos, 
In hac semper festum melos ! 

Prince Henry. Do you observe that monk among the train, 
Who pours from his great throat the roaring bass, 
As a cathedral spout pours out the rain, 
And this way turns his rubicund, round face ? 

Elsie. It is the same who, on the Strasburg square, 
Preached to the people in the open air. 

Prince Henry. And he has crossed o'er mountain, field, and fell, 
On that good steed, that seems to bear him well, 
The hackney of the Friars of Orders Gray, 
His own stout legs ! He, too, was in the play, 
Both as King Herod and Ben Israel. 
Good morrow, Friar ! 

Friar Cuthhert. Good morrow, noble Sir ! 

Prince Henry. I speak in German, for, unless I err, 
You are a German. 

Friar Cuthhert. I cannot gainsay you. 
But by what instinct, or what secret sign, 
Meeting me here, do you straightway divine 
That northward of the Alps my country lies ? 

Prince Henry. Your accent, like St. Peter's, would betray you, 
Did not your yellow beard and your blue eyes. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 307 

Moreover, we have seen your face before, 
And heard you preaeh at the Cathedral door 
On Easter Sunday, in tne Strasburg square. 
We were among the crowd that gathered there, 
And saw you play the Rabbi with great skill, 
As if, by leaning o'er so many years 
To walk with little children, your own will 
Had caught a childish attitude from tL 
A kind of stooping in its torm and gait, 
And eould no longer stand erect and straight. 
Whence come you DO 

Friar Cuthbert. From the old monastery 

Of Hirschau, 111 the forest ; being sent 
Upon a pilgrimage to Keiievent, 
To gee tiic image of the Virgin Mary, 
That moves its holy eyes, and sometinu 
And lets the piteous tears run down it> cheeks, 
To touch the hearts <<f the unpen 

Prune Henry, O, had 1 faith as in tin- days gone by, 
That knew no doubt, and feared no mystery ' 

Lucifer (<it <i distance). Ho, Cuthbert! Friar Cuthbert! 

Friar Cuthbert. . . Ji, Prince ! 

I cannot sta\ to argue and convince. 

Prime Henry. This i-> indeed the bl< >sed Mary s land, 
Virgin and Mother of our d 

All hearts are touched and softened at her name ; 
Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand. 
The priest, the prin i.olar, and the peasant, 

The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer, 
Pay homage to her as one ev< r present ! 
And ewn as children, who have much offended 
A too indulgent father, in great shame, 
Penitent, and yet not daring unattended 
To go into his presence, at the gate 
Speak with their sister, and confiding wait 
Till she goes in before and 1:. 
So men, repenting of their evil d< 
And yet not venturing rashly to draw near 
With their requests an angry father's ear, 
Offer to her their prayers and their confession, 
And she for them in heaven makes intercession. 
And if our Faith had given us nothing more 
Than this example of all womanhood, 
So mild, so merciful, so good, 



3o3 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure, 
This were enough to prove it higher and truer 
Than all the creeds the world had known before. 

Pilgrims {chanting afar qfj). 

Urbs coelestis, urbs beata, 
Supra petram collocata, 
Urbs in portu satis tuto 
De longinquo te saluto, 
Te saluto, te suspiro, 
Te arTecto, te requiro ! 

The Inn at Genoa. A terrace overlooking the sea. Night, 

Prince Henry. It is the sea, it is the sea, 
In all its vague immensity, 
Fading and darkening in the distance ! 
Silent, majestical, and slow, 
The white ships haunt it to and fro, 
With all their ghostly sails unfurled, 
As phantoms from another world 
Haunt the dim confines of existence ! 
But ah ! how few can comprehend 
Their signals, or to what good end 
From land to land they come and go ! 
Upon a sea more vast and dark 
The spirits of the dead embark, 
All voyaging to unknown coasts. 
We wave our farewells from the shore, 
And they depart, and come no more, 
Or come as phantoms and as ghosts. 

Above the darksome sea of death 

Looms the great life that is to be, 

A land of cloud and mystery, 

A dim mirage, with shapes of men 

Long dead, and passed beyond our ken. 

Awe-struck, we gaze, and hold our breath 

Till the fair pageant vanisheth, 

Leaving us in perplexity, 

And doubtful whether it has been 

A vision of the world unseen, 

Or a bright image of our own 

Against the sky in vapours thrown. 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 309 

Lucifer {singing from the sea). Thou didst not make it, thou 
canst not mend it, 
But thou hast the power to end it ! 
The sea is silent, the sea is discreet, 
Deep it lies at thy very feet : 
There is no confessor like unto Death ! 
Thou canst not see him, but he is near ; 
Thou needest not whisper above thy breath. 
And he will hear j 
He will answer the questions, 
The vague surmises and suggestions, 
That till thy soul with doubt and fear! 

Prince Henry. The fisherman, who lies afloat, 
With shadowy sail, in yonder boat, 
Is singing softly to the Night ! 
But do I comprehend aright 
The meaning of the words he sung 
So sweetly in his native tongue? 
Ah, yes! the sea is still and deep. 
All things within its bosom sleep! 
A single step and all is o'erj 
A plunge, a bubble, and no more ; 
And thou, dear Elsie, will be free 
From martyrdom and a 

Elsie {coming from her chamber upon the terrace). The night 

is calm and cloudlet, 
And still as still can be, 
And the stars come forth to listen 
To the music of the sea. 
They gather, and gather, and gather, 
Until they crowd the sky, 
And listen, in breathless .silence. 
To the solemn litany. 
It begins in rocky caverns, 
As a voice that chants alone 
To the pedals of the organ 
In monotonous undertone; 
And anon from shelving beaches, 
And shallow sands beyond, 
In snow-white robes upi 
The ghostly choirs respond. 
And sadly and unceasing 
The mournful voice sings on, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 
And the snow-white choirs still answer, 
Christe eleison ! 
Prince Henry. Angel of God ! thy finer sense perceives 
Celestial and perpetual harmonies ! 
Thy purer soul, that trembles and believes, 
Hears the archangel's trumpet in the breeze, 
And where the forest roUs, or ocean heaves, 
Cecilia's organ sounding in the seas, 
And tongues of prophets speaking in the leaves. 
But I hear discord only and despair, 
And whispers as of demons in the air ! 

At Sea. 

II Padrone. The wind upon our quarter lies, 
And on before the freshening gale, 
That fills the snow-white lateen sail, 
Swiftly our light felucca flies. 
Around, the billows burst and foam ; 
They lift her o'er the sunken rock, 
They beat her sides with many a shock, 
And then upon their flowing dome 
They poise her, like a weathercock ! 
Between us and the western skies 
The hills of Corsica arise ; 
Eastward, in yonder long, blue line, 
The summits of the Apennine, 
And southward, and still far away, 
Salerno, on its sunny bay. 
You cannot see it, where it lies. 

Prince Henry. Ah, would that never more mine eyes 
Might see its towers by night or day ! 

Elsie. Behind us, dark and awfully, 
There comes a cloud out of the sea, 
That bears the form of a hunted deer, 
With hide of brown, and hoofs of black, 
And antlers laid upon its back, 
And fleeing fast and wild with fear, 
As if the hounds were on its track ! 

Prince Henry. Lo ! while we gaze, it breaks and falls 
In shapeless masses, like the walls 
Of a burnt city. Broad and red 
The fires of the descending sun 
Glare through the windows, and o'erhead, 
Athwart the vapours, dense and dun, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 311 

Long shafts of silvery light arise, 
Like rafters that support the skies ! 

Elsie. See ! from its summit the lurid levin 
Flashes downward without warning, 
As Lucifer, sun of the morning, 
Fell from the battlements of heaven ! 

// Padrone. I must entreat you, friends, below ! 
The angry storm begins to blow, 
For the weather changes with the moon. 
All this morning, until noon, 
We had barfling winds, and sudden flaws 
Struck the sea with their cat's-paws. 
Only a little hour ago 
I was whistling to Saint Antonio 
For a capful of wind to till our sail, 
And instead of a breeze he has sent a gale. 
Last night 1 saw Saint Elmo's Mars, 
With their glimmering lantern*., all ai play 
On the top-, of the masts ami the up- i»i the trs, 
And 1 knew we should have foul weather ioh 
Cheerly, my hearties! 70 heave ho! 

Brail up the mainsail, and let Ik r 

As the winds will and Saint Antonio ! 

Do you see that Livorne-e felueea, 

Thai vessel to the windward yonder, 

Running with her gunwale under? 

I was looking when the wind Overtook her. 
She had all sail set, and the only wonder 

N, that at once the strength of the blast 
Did not carry away her mast. 
She is a galley of the Gran Duea, 
That, through the fear of the Algerines, 
Convoys those lazy brigantines, 
Laden with wine and oil from Lucca. 
Now all is ready high and low -, 
Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio! 

I la ! that is the first dash of the rain, 

With a sprinkle of spray above the rails, 

Just enough to moisten our sails, 

And make them ready for the strain. 

See how she leaps, as the blasts o'ertake her, 

And speeds away with a bone in her mouth! 



3™ THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Now keep her head toward the south, 
And there is no danger of bank or breaker. 
With the breeze behind us, on we go - 3 
I\ot too much, good Saint Antonio! 



VI. 

The School of Salerno. A travelling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate 
of the College. 

Scholastic. There, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield, 
Hung up as a challenge to all the field ! 
One hundred and twenty-five propositions, 
Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue 
Against all disputants, old and young. 
Let us see if doctors or dialecticians 
Will dare to dispute my definitions, 
Or attack any one of my learned theses. 
Here stand 1 5 the end shall be as God pleases. 
I think I have proved, by profound researches, 
The error of all those doctrines so vicious 
Of the old Areopagite Dionysius, 
That are making such terrible work in the churches, 
By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East, 
And done into Latin by that Scottish beast, 
Erigena Johannes, who dares to maintain, 
In the face of the truth, the error infernal, 
That the universe is and must be eternal ; 
At first laying down, as a fact fundamental, 
That nothing with God can be accidental 5 
Then asserting that God before the creation 
Could not have existed, because it is plain 
That, had he existed, he would have created ; 
Which is begging the question that should be debated. 
And moveth me less to anger than laughter. 
All nature, he holds, is a respiration 
Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing, hereafter 
Will inhale it into his bosom again, 
So that nothing but God alone will remain. 
And therein he contradicteth himself; 
For he opens the whole discussion by stating, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 513 

That God can only exist in creating. 
That question I think I have laid on the shelf! 
[He goes out. Two Doctors come in disputing, and followed by Pupils.'] 

Doctor Serafino. I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain, 
That a word which is only conceived in the brain 
Is a type of eternal Generation ; 
The spoken word is the Incarnation. 

Doctor Cherubino. What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic, 
With all his wordy charier and traffic? 

Doctor Serqfino. You make but a paltry show of resistance j 
Univer.-als have no real existence ! 

Doctor Cherubim). Your words are but idle and empty chatter; 
Ideas are eternally joined to matter! 

Doctor Serqfino, May the Lord have mercy on your position, 
You wretched, wrangling culler of herbs! 

Doctor Cherubino. -May he send your soul to eternal perdition, 
For your Treatise on the Irregular Vt 

[They rush oid jighting. Two Scholars conic in.] 

First Scholar. Montr Cassino, then, is your College. 
What think you 1 I 

Second Scholar. To tell the truth, 1 arrived so lately, 

J hardly yet have had time to di 

So much, at Least, 1 am bound to acknowledge- 

The air seems healthy, the buildings stately. 

And on the whole I like it gi 

Mrst Scholar. Yes, the air is sweet j the Calabrian hills 
Send us down puffs of mountain air; 
And in summer-time the sea-breeze fills 
With its coolness cloister, and court, and square. 
Then at every season of the year 
There are crowds ofguests and travellers here 5 
Pilgrims, and mendicant friars, and traders 
From the Levant, with figs and wine, 
And bands of wounded and sick Crusaders, 
Coming back from Palestine. 

Second Scholar. And what are the studies you pursue ? 
What is the course you here go through? 

First Scholar. The first three years of the college course 
Are given to Logic alone, as the source 
Of all that is noble, and wise, and true. 

Second Scholar. That seems rather strange, I must confess, 
h\ a Medical School; yet, nevertheless, 
Y'ou doubtless have reasons for that. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 
First Scholar. O, yes ! 

For none but a clever dialectician 

Can hope to become a great physician j 

That has been settled long ago. 

Logic makes an important part 

Of the mystery of the healing art ; 

For without it how could you hope to show 

That nobody knows so much as you know I 

After this there are five years more 

Devoted wholly to medicine, 

"With lectures on chirurgical lore, 

And dissections of the bodies of swine> 

As likest the human form divine. 

Second Scholar. What are the books now most in vogue t 
First Scholar. Quite an extensive catalogue; 

Mostly, however, books of our own ; 

As Garriopontus' Passionarius, 

And the writings of Matthew Platearius -, 

And a volume universally known 

As the Regimen of the School of Salern, 

For Robert of Normandy written in terse 

And very elegant Latin verse. 

Each of these writings has its turn. 

And when at length we have finished these^ 

Then comes the struggle for degrees, 

"With all the oldest and ablest critics -, 

The public thesis and disputation, 

Question, and answer, and explanation 

Of a passage out of Hippocrates, 

Or Aristotle's Analytics. 

There the triumphant Magister stands ! 

A book is solemnly placed in his hands, 

On which he swears to follow the rule 

And ancient forms of the good old School j 

To report if any confectionarius 

Mingles his drugs with matters various, 

And to visit his patients twice a day, 

And once in the night, if they live in town, 

And if they are poor, to take no pay. 

Having faithfully promised these, 

His head is crowned with a laurel crown ; 

A kiss on his cheek, a ring on his hand, 

The Magister Artium et Physices 

Goes forth from the school like a lord of the land. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 315 

And now, as we have the whole morning before us, 
Let us go in, if you make no objection, 
And listen awhile to a learned prelection 
On Marcus Aurelius Cassiodonls. 

[They go m. Enter Ln ifef at a Doctor."] 
Lucifer. This is the gr item ! 

A land of wrangling and of quarrels, 
Of brains that .seethe and hearts that burn, 
Where every emulous scholar bears, 
In rvery breath that conies to hil ears, 
The rustling of another's hum Is ! 
The air of the place i$ called salubrious ; 
The neighbourhood of Vesuvius lends it 
An odour volcanie, that rather mends it, 

And the buildings have an aspect lugubrious, 

That inspires a feeling of awe and tin. r 

Into the heart of the beholder, 

And befits such an ancient homestead of error, 

Where the old falsehoods moulder ami ^moulder. 
And yearlj by many hundred bands 

Arc carried away, in the zeal ofyouth, 

And sown like tares in the field of truth, 
To blossom and ripen in other lands. 

What have we here, affixed to the gate? 
The challenge of some scholastic vvight, 
Who \\ ishes to hold a public debate 
On sundry questions wrong <»r right! 
Ah, now this is my great delight ! 
For I have often observed of late 
That such discussions end in a fight. 
Let us see what the learned wag maintains 
With such a prodigal waste Of brains. 

[Reads.-] 

"Whether angels in moving from place to place 
Pass through the intermediate space. 
Whether God himself is the author of evil, 
Or whether that is the work of the Devil. 
When, where, and wherefore Lucifer fell, 
And whether he now is chained in hell." 

I think I can answer that question well ! 
So long as the boastful human mind 



316 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Consents in such mills as this to grind, 
I sit very firmly upon my throne ! 
Of a truth it almost makes me laugh, 
To see men leaving the golden grain 
To gather in piles the pitiful chaff 
That old Peter Lombard thrashed with his brain, 
To have it caught up and tossed again 
On the horns of the Dumb Ox of Cologne 1 

But my guests approach ! there is in the air 
A fragrance like that of the Beautiful Garden 
Of Paradise in the days that were ! 
An odour of innocence and of prayer, 
And of love, and faith that never fails, 
Such as the fresh young heart exhales 
Before it begins to wither and harden ! 
I cannot breathe such an atmosphere ! 
My soul is filled with a nameless fear, 
That, after all my trouble and pain, 
After all my restless endeavour, 
The youngest, fairest soul of the twain, 
The most ethereal, most divine, 
Will escape from my hands for ever and ever. 
But the other is already mine ! 
Let him live to corrupt his race, 
Breathing among them, with every breath, 
Weakness, selfishness, and the base 
And pusillanimous fear of death. 
I know his nature, and I know 
That of all who in my ministry 
( Wander the great earth to and fro, 
And on my errands come and go, 
The safest and subtlest are such as he. 

"Enter Prince Henry and Elsie, with attendants. 

Prince Henry. Can you direct us to Friar Angelo ? 

Lucifer. He stands before you. 

Prince Henry. Then you know our purpose; 

I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and this 
The maiden that I spake of in my letters. 

Lucifer. It is a very grave and solemn business! 
We must not be precipitate. Does she 
Without compulsion, of her own free will, 
: Consent to this?' • 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 317 

Prince Henry. Against all opposition, 
Against all prayers, entreaties, protestations. 
She will not be persuaded. 

Lucifer. That is strange ! 

Have you thought well of it ? 

Elsie. I come not here 

To argue, but to die. Your business is not 
To question, but to kill me. I am ready. 
I am impatient to be gone from here 
Ere any thoughts of earth disturb again 
The spirit of tranquillity within me. 

Prince Ihnry. Would I had not come here! Would I were 
dead, 
And thou wcrt in thy cottage in the forest, 
And hadst not known me ! Why have I done this? 
Let me go back and die. 

Elsie, It cannot be; 

Not if these cold flat stones on which we tn 
Were coulters heated white, and yonder gateway 
Flamed like a furnace with a sevenfold heat. 
I must fullil my purj 

Prince Henry. id it ! 

Not one step farther. For 1 only meant 
To put thus far thy courage to the proof. 
It is enough. I, too, have courage to die, 
For thou hast taught me ! 

Elsie. O my Prince ! remember 

Your promises. Let me fullil my errand. 
You do not look on life and death as 1 do. 
There are two angels, that attend unseen 
Each one of us, and in great books record 
Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down 
The good ones, after every action closes 
His volume, and ascends with it to God. 
The other keeps his dreadful day-book open 
Till sunset, that we may repent ; which doing, 
The record of the action fades away, 
And leaves a line of white across the page. 
Now if my act be good, as I believe, 
It cannot be recalled. It is already 
Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed accomplished* 
The rest is yours. Why wait you? I am ready. 



318 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

[To her attendants.'] \ 

Weep not, my friends ! rather rejoice with me. 
I shall not feel the pain, but shall be gone, 
And you will have another friend in heaven. 
Then start not at the creaking of the door 
Through which I pass. I see what lies beyond it a 

[To Prince Henry.] 

And you, O Prince, bear back my benison 

Unto my father's house, and all within it. 

This morning in the church I prayed for them, 

After confession, after absolution, 

When my whole soul was white, I prayed for them, 

God will take care of them, they need me not. 

And in your life let my remembrance linger, 

As something not to trouble and disturb it, 

But to complete it, adding life to life. 

And if at times beside the evening fire 

You see my face among the other faces, 

Let it not be regarded as a ghost 

That haunts your house, but as a guest that loves you. 

Nay, even as one of your own family, 

Without whose presence there was something wanting. 

I have no more to say. Let us go in. 

Prince Henry. Friar Angelo ! I charge you on your life| 
Believe not what she says, for she is mad, 
And comes here not to die, but to be healed ! 

Elsie. Alas ! Prince Henry ! 

Lucifer. Come with me ; this wajf. 

[Elsie goes in with Lucifer, who thrusts Prince Henry back and closes 
the door."] 

Prince Henry. Gone! and the light of all my life gone w lib lie: 
A sudden darkness falls upon the world ! 
O, what a vile and abject thing am I, 
That purchase length of days at such a cost ! 
Not by her death alone, but by the death 
Of all that' s good and true and noble in me ! 
All manhood, excellence, and self-respect, 
All love, and faith, and hope, and heart are dead ! 
All my divine nobility of nature 
By this one act is forfeited for ever. 
I am a Prince in nothing but in name ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. ^ig 

[To the attendants.'] 

Why did you let this horrible deed be done ? 
Why did you not lay hold on her, and keep her 
From self-destruetion ? Angelo ! murderer ! 

[Struggles at the door, lut cannot open it.} 

Elsie (within). Farewell, dear Prince ! farewell! 
Prince Henry. Unbar the door ! 

Lucifer, h is too late ! 

Prince Henry. It shall not be too late ! 

[They bunt the door open and rusk in.'] 

The Cottage in the Odenwctld. Ursula, spinriing. Summer afternoon* 
A tulle spread. 

Ursula. I have marked it well, — it must be true, — 
Death never takes one alone, but two ! 
Whenever he enters in at a door, 
Under root' of gold or roof of thatch, 
He always Leaves it upon the latch, 
And conies' again en- the year ^ o'er. 
Never one of a household only! 
Perhaps it i-. a mercy of God, 
Lest the dead there under the sod, 
In the land of strangers, should be lonely! 
Ah me! I think 1 am lonelier lure! 
It is hard to go, — but harder t<> stay ! 
Were it not for the children, I should pray 
That Death would take me within the year! 
And Gottlieb ! — he is at work all day 
In the sunny field, or tbe forest murk, 
But I know that his thoughts are far away, 
I know that his heart is not in his work ! 
And when he conies home to me at night 
He is not cheery, but sits and sighs, 
And 1 see the great tears in his eves, 
And try to be cheerful for his sake. 
Only the children's hearts are light. 
Mine is weary, and ready to break. 
God help us! I hope we have done right; 
We thought we were acting for the be-t ! 
[Looking through the open door.] 
Who is it coming under the trees ? 
A man, in the Prince's livery dressed! 



330 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

He looks about him with doubtful face 
As if uncertain of the place. 
He stops at the beehives ; — now he sees 
The garden gate ; — he is going past ! 
Can he be afraid of the bees ? 
No -, he is coming in at last ! 
He fills my heart with strange alarm ! 

Enter a Forester. 

Forester. Is this the tenant Gottlieb's farm ? 

Ursula. This is his farm, and I his wife. 
Pray sit. What may your business be ? 

Forester. News from the Prince ! 

Ursula. Of deatn or life? 

Forester. You put your questions eagerly ! 

Ursula. Answer me, then. How is the Prince ? 

Forester. I left him only two hours since 
Homeward returning down the river, 
As strong and well as if God, the Giver, 
Had given him back his youth again. 

Ursula (despairing). Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead! 

Forester. That, my good woman, I have not said. 
Don't cross the bridge till you come to it, 
Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit. 

Ursula. Keep me no longer in this pain ! 

Forester. It is true your daughter is no more ; — 
That is, the peasant she was before. 

Ursula. Alas ! I am simple, and lowly bred, 
I am poor, distracted, and forlorn. 
And it is not well that you of the court 
Should mock me thus, and make a sport 
Of a joyless mother whose child is dead, 
For you, too, were of mother born ! 

Forester. Your daughter lives, and the Prince is well ! 
You will learn ere long how it all befell. 
Her heart for a moment never failed ; 
But when they reached Salerno's gate, 
The Prince's nobler self prevailed, 
And saved her for a nobler fate. 
And he was healed, in his despair, 
By the touch of St. Matthew's sacred bones ; 
Though I think the long ride in the open air, 
J ' That pilgrimage over stocks and stones, 
In the miracle must come in for a share ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 3»* 

Ursula. Virgin ! who lovest the poor and lowly, 
If the loud cry of a mother's heart 
Can ever ascend to where thou art, 
Into thy blessed hands and holy 
Receive my prayer of praise and thanksgiving. 
Let the hands that bore our Saviour bear it 
Into the awful presence of God ; 
For thy feet with holiness are shod, 
And if thou bearest it he will hear it. 
Our child who was dead, again is living ! 

Forester. I did not tell you she was dead ; 
If you thought so 'twas no fault of mine ; 
At this very moment, while I speak, 
They are sailing homeward down the Rhine, 
In a splendid barge, with golden prow, 
And decked with banners white and red 
As the colours on your daughter's cheek. 
They call her the Lady Alicia now; 
For the Prince in Salerno made a 
That Elsie only would he wed. 

Ursula. Jesu Maria! what a change! 
All seems to me so weird and strange ! 

Forester. I saw her standing on the deck, 
Beneath an awning cool and shady; 
Her cap of velvet could not hold 
The tresses of her hair of gold, 
That flowed and floated like the stream, 
And fell in masses down her neck. 
As fair and lovely did she seem 
As in a story or a dream 
Some beautiful and foreign lady. 
And the Prince looked so grand and proud, 
And waved his hand thus to the crowd 
That gazed and shouted from the shore, 
All down the river, long and loud. 

Ursula. We shall behold our child once more; 
She is not dead ! She is not dead ! 
God, listening, must have overheard 
The prayers, that, without sound or word, 
Our hearts in secrecy have said ! 
O, bring me to her; for mine eyes 
Are hungry to behold her face j 
My very soul within me cries ; 
My very hands seem to caress her, 



322 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

To see her, gaze at her, ancT bless her ; 
Dear Elsie, child of God and grace ! 

[Goes out toward the garden."] 

Forester. There goes the good woman out of her head ; 
And Gottlieb's supper is waiting here ; 
A very capacious flagon of beer, 
And a very portentous loaf of bread. 
One would say his grief did not much oppress him. 
Here's to the health of the Prince, God bless him. 
[He drinks.] 

Ha ! it buzzes and stings like a hornet ! 
And what a scene there, through the door ! 
The forest behind and the garden before, 
And midway an old man of threescore, 
"With a wife and children that caress him. 
Let me try still further to cheer and adorn it 
With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet ! 
[Goes out lloicing his horn.] 

The Castle of Vautslerg on the Rhine. Prince Henry and Elsie standing on 
.the terrace at evening. The sound oflells heard from a distance. 

Prince Henry. We are alone. The wedding guests 
Ride down the hill with plumes and cloaks, 
And the descending dark invests 
The Niederwald, and all the nests 
Among its hoar and haunted oaks. 

Elsie. What bells are those, that ring so slow, 
So mellow, musical, and low ? 

Prince Henry. They are the bells of Geisenheim, 
That with their melancholy chime 
Ring out the curfew of the sun. 

Elsie. Listen, beloved. 

Prince Henry. They are done ! 

Bear Elsie ! many years ago 
Those same soft bells at eventide 
Rang in the ears of Charlemagne, 
As, seated by Fastrada's side 
At Ingelheim, in all his pride, 
He heard their sound with secret pain. 

Elsie. Their voices only speak to me 
Of peace and deep tranquillity, 
And endless confidence in thee ! 




"// "ha t bells arc those that ririg so slow, 

So mellow, musical, and low.'" 



The Gol.U 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Prince Henry. Thou knowest the story of her ring 
How, when the court went back to AlXj 
Fastrada died ; and how the king 
Sat watching by her night and day, 
Till into one of the blue lakes, 
Which water that delicious land, 
They cast the ring, drawn from her hand \ 
And the great monarch sat serene 
And sad beside the feted shore, 
Nor left the land for evermore. 

Elsie. That was true I 

Prince Henry. For him the i\ U 

Ne'er did what thou hast done ft)t 

Elsie. Wilt thou as fond and faithful be I 
Wilt thou so love me after death ? 

Prince Henry. In life's delight, in death's e 
In storm and sunshine, night and day, 
In health, in sickness^ in decay, 
Here and hereafter, I am thine! 

Thou hast Fastntda'a ring. Beneath 

The calm, blue waters of thine I j 

Deep in t by steadfast bouI it 

And, undisturbed by this world's breath, 

With magic light its jewels shine! 

This golden ring, which thou bast worn 
Upon thy finger since the morn, 
Js but a symbol and a semblanee, 
An outward fashion, a remembrance. 
Of what thou wearest within unseen, 
O my Fastrada, O my queen ! 
Behold ! the hill-tops all aglow 
With purple and with amethyst ; 
While the whole valley deep below 
Is filled, and seems to overflow, 
With a fast-rising tide of mi.->t. 
The evening air grows damp and chill ; 
Let us go in. 

Elsie, Ah, not so soon. 

See yonder fire! It is the moon 
Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. 
It glimmers on the forest tips, 
And through the dewy foliage dripj 
In little rivulets of light, 
And makes the heart in love with night. 



324 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Prince Henry. Oft on this terrace, when the day 
Was closing, have I stood and gazed. 
And seen the landscape fade away, 
And the white vapours rise and drown 
Hamlet and vineyard, tower and town, 
While far above the hill-tops blazed. 
But then another hand than thine 
Was gently held and clasped in mine 5 
Another head upon my breast 
Was laid, as thine is now, at rest. 
Why dost thou lift those tender eyes 
With so much sorrow and surprise ? 
A minstrel's, not a maiden's hand, 
Was that which in my own was pressed. 
A manly form usurped thy place, 
A beautiful, but bearded face, 
That now is in the Holy Land, 
Yet in my memory from afar 
Is shining on us like a star. 
But linger not. For while I speak, 
A sheeted spectre white and tall, 
The cold mist climbs the castle wall, 
And lays his hand upon thy cheek. 

[They go m.] 



EPILOGUE. 

THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS ASCENDING. 

The Angel of Good Deeds {with closed look). 

God sent his messenger the rain, 
And said unto the mountain brook, 
" Rise up, and from thy caverns look 
And leap, with naked, snow-white feet, 
From the cool hills into the heat 
Of the broad, arid plain." 

God sent his messenger of faith, 
And whispered in the maiden's heart, 
* Rise up, and look from where thou art, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 325 

And scatter with unselfish hands 
Thy freshness on the barren sands 
And solitudes of Death." 

O beauty of holiness, 

Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness ! 

O power of meekness, 

Whose very gentleness and weak] 

Are like the yielding, but irresistible air! 

Upon the j) 

Of the scaled volume that I bear, 

The deed divine 

Is written in characters of gold, 

That never shall grow old, 

But through all ages 

Burn and shine 

With soft effulgence! 

O God! it is thy indulgence 

That fills the world with the bliss 

Of a trood deed like this ! 



The Angel of Evil Deeds (with open book). 

Not yet, not yet 

Is the red sun wholly set, 

But evermore recede-;, 

While open still I bear 

The Book of Evil 1), 

To let the breathings of the upper air 

Visit its pages, and erase 

The records from its face ! 

Fainter and fainter as I gaze 

Tn the broad blaze 

The glimmering landscape shines, 

And below me the black river 

Is hidden by wreaths of vapour ! 

Fainter and fainter the black lines 

Begin to quiver 

Along the whitening surface of the paper; 

Shade after shade 

The terrible words grow faint and fade, 

And in their place 

Runs a white space ! 



326 THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 

Down goes the sun ! 
But the soul of one, 
Who by repentance 
Has escaped the dreadful sentence, 
Shines bright below me as I look 6 
It is the end ! 
With closed Book 
To God do I ascend. 

Lo ! over the mountain steeps 

A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps 

Beneath my feet ; 

A blackness inwardly brightening 

With sullen heat, 

As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning. 

And a cry of lamentation, 

Repeated and again repeated, 

Deep and loud 

As the reverberation 

Of cloud answering unto cloud, 

Swells and rolls away in the distance, 

As if the sheeted 

Lightning retreated, 

Baffled and thwarted by the wind's resistance. 

It is Lucifer, 

The son of mystery 5 

And since God suffers him to be, 

He, too, is God's minister, 

And labours for some good 

By us not understood ! 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



INTRODUCTION, 



Should you ask mc, whence these 

stories ? 
Whence these legends and traditions, 
With the odours or' the forest. 
With the dew and damp or' meadows, 
With the curling smoke of \\i. 
With the rushing of great rivers, 
With their frequent repeth 
And their wild reverberations. 
As of thunder in the mountains ? 

I should answer, I should tell you. 
" From the forests and the prairies, 
From the great lakes of the- Northland, 
From the land of the Ojihways, 
From the land of the Dacotahs, 
From the mountains, moors, and fen- 
lands, 
Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Feeds among the reeds and rushes. 
I repeat them as I heard them 
From the lips of Nawadaha, 
The musician, the sweet singer." 

Should you ask where Nawadaha 
Found these songs, so wildand wayward. 
Found these legends and traditions, 
I should answer, I should tell you, 
"In the birds'-nests of the forest, 
In the lodges of the beaver. 
In the hoof-prints of the bison, 
In the eyry of the eagle ! 

" All the wild-fowl sang them to him, 
In the moorlands and the fen-lands, 
In the melancholy marshes ; 



Chetowaik, the plover, sang them, 
Mahng.the loon. the wild gOOSC, N 
The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
And the grouse, the Mush^QcJ 

If still further you should ;t k 
Saying, " Who was Nawadaha ? 
Tell us of this " 

I should answer your Inquiries 
Straightway in Mich words as follow. 

" In the Vale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and tilent valley. 
By the pleasant water-cm: 
Dwelt the singer Nawadaha. 
Round about the Indian village 
Spread the meadows and the corn-field i \ 
And beyond them stood the forest, 
Stood the groves of singing pim - 
Green in Summer, white in Winter, 
hing, ever singing. 

" And the pleasant water-courses, 
You could trace them through the valley. 
By the rushing in the Spring-time, 
By the alders in the Summer, 
By the white fog in the Autumn, 
By the black line in the Winter; 
And beside them dwelt the singer, 
In the Vale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and silent valley. 

" There he sang of Hiawatha, 
Sang the song of Hiawatha, 
Sang his wondrous birth and being, 
How he prayed and how he fasted, 
How he lived, and toiled, and suffered, 



32b 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



That the tribes of men might prosper, 
That he might advance his people !" 

Ye who love the haunts of Nature, 
Love the sunshine of the meadow, 
Love the shadow of the forest, 
Love the wind among the branches, 
And the rain-shower and the snow- 
storm, 
And the rushing of great rivers 
Through their palisades of pine-trees, 
And the thunder in the mountains, 
Whose innumerable echoes 
Flap like eagles in their eyries ; — ■ 
Listen to these wild traditions, 
To this Song of Hiawatha ! 

Ye who love a nation's legends, 
Love the ballads of a people, 
That like voices from afar off 
Gall to us to pause and listen, 
Speak in tones so plain and childlike, 
Scarcely can the ear distinguish 
Whether they are sung or spoken ; — 
Listen to this Indian Legend, 
To this Song of Hiawatha ! 

Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, 
Who have faith in God and Nature, 



Who believe, that in ail ages' 
Every human heart is human, 
That in even savage bosoms 
There are longings, yearnings, striving 
For the good they comprehend not, 
That the feeble hands and helpless, 
Groping blindly in the darkness, 
Touch God's right hand in thatdarknes 
And are lifted up and strengthened ;- 
Listen to this simple story, 
To this Song of Hiawatha ! 

Ye, who sometimes, in your rambl< 
Through the green lanes of the countr 
Where the tangled barberry-bushes 
Hang their tufts of crimson berries 
Over stone walls grey with mosses,. 
Pause by some neglected graveyard, 
For a while to muse, and ponder 
On a half-effaced inscription, 
Written with little skill of song-crai' 
Homely phrases, but each letter 
Full of hope and yet of heart-break, 
Full of all the tender pathos 
Of the Here and the Hereafter ; — 
Stay and read this rude inscription ! 
Read this Song of Hiawatha ! 



I. 



THE PEACE-PIPE. 



On the Mountains of the Prairie, 
On the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry, 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
He the Master of Life, descending, 
On the red crags of the quarry 
Stood erect, and called the nations, 
Called the tribes of men together. 

From his footprints flowed a river, 
Leaped into the light of morning, 
O'er the precipice plunging downward 
Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet. 
And the Spirit, stooping earthward, 
With his finger on the meadow 



Traced a winding pathway for it, 
Saying to it, " Run in this way !" 

From the red stone of the quarry 
With his hand he broke a fragment. 
Moulded it into a pipe-head, , 

Shaped and fashioned it with figures 
From the margin of the river 
Took a long reed for a pipe-stem, 
With its dark-green leaves upon it ; 
Filled the pipe with bark of willow, 
With the bark of the red willow ; 
Breathed upon the neighbouring fore; 
Made its great boughs chafe togeth* 



THE PEA 
Fill in flame they burst and kindled ; 
find erect upon the mountains, 
jitche Manito, the might}-, 
fmoked the calumet, the Peace-Pipe, 
&s a signal to the nal 

1 the smoke r< lowly, 

"hrough the tranquil air of morning, 
'irst a single line of dark:. 
Then a denser, bluer vapour, 
fhen a snow-whue cloud unfolding, 
like the tree-tops of the forest, 
jver rising, rising, rising, 
"ill it touched the top of heaven, 
' ,'ill it broke against the heaven, 
!nd rolled outward all around it. 
I From the Vale of Tawasentha, 
rom the Valley of Wyoming, 
rom the groves of Tuscaloosa, 
rom the far-off Rock) Mountains, 
irom the Northern lakes and riven, 
" 11 the tribes beheld the signal, 
, w the distant smoke ascending, 
' he Pukwana of the Peace - 
And the Prophets of the nations 
fd : " Behold it, the Pukwana ! 
' this signal from afar off, 
nding like a wand of willow, 
faving like a hand that beckons, 
bche Manito, the mighty, 
lis the tribes of men together, 
|lls the warriors to his council !" 
iDown the rivers, o'er the prairies, 
me the warriors of the nations, 
j me the Delawares and Mohawks, 
7 Rie the Choctaws and Camanches, 
' fne the Shoshonies and Blackfeet, 
aie the Pawnees and Omawhaws, 
-^me the Mandans and Dacotahs, 
fae the Hurons and Ojibways, 
the warriors drawn together 
the signal of the Peace-Pipe, 
I the Mountains of the Prairie, 
''the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry. 
id And they stood there on the meadow, 



CE-PIPE. 3 2 9 

With their weapons and their war gear, 
Painted like the leaves of Autumn, 
Painted like the sky of morning, 
Wildly glaring at each other ; 
In their faces stern defiance, 
In their hearts the feuds of ages, 
The hereditary hatred, 
The ancestral thirst of vengeance. 

Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
The Creator of the nations, 
Looked upon them with compassion, 
With paternal love and pity; 
Looked upon their wrath and wrangling 
But as quarrels among children, 
But as feuds and fights of children ! 
Over them he stretched his right 
hand, 
To subdue their stubborn natures, 
To allay their thirst and i 
By the shadow of his right hand j 
Spake to them with vofc 
As the sound of far-off u 
Falling into di 
W arning, chiding, spake in this v. ' 

" O my children ! my poor child 
Listen to the words of wisdom, 
Listen to the words of warning, 
From the lips of the Great Spirit, 
From the Master of Life, whomadeyou! 
" I have given you lands to hunt in, 
I have given you streams to fish in, 
I have given you bear and bison, 
I have given you roe and reindeer, 
I have given you brant and beaver. 
Filled the marshes full of wild-fowl, 
Filled the rivers full of fishes ; 
Why then are you not contented ? 
Why then will you hunt each other ? 

" I am weary of your quarrels, 
Weary of your wars and bloodshed, 
W r eary of your prayers for vengeance, 
Of your wranglings and dissensions ; 
All your strength is in your union, 
All your danger is in discord ; 



33° 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



Therefore be at peace henceforward, 
And as brothers live together. 

" I will send a Prophet to you, 
A Deliverer of the nations, 
Who shall guide you and shall teach you, 
Who shall toil and suffer with you. 
If you listen to his counsels, 
You will multiply and prosper ; 
If his warnings pass unheeded, 
You will fade away and perish ! 

" Bathe now in the stream before you, 
Wash the war-paint from your faces, 
Wash the blood-stains from your 

fingers, 
Bury your war-clubs and your weapons, 
Break the red stone from this quarry, 
Mould and make it into Peace-Pipes, 
Take the reeds that grow beside you, 
Deck them with your brightest feathers, 
Smoke the calumet together, 
And as brothers live henceforward !" 

Then upon the ground the warriors 
Threw their cloaks and shirts of deer- 
skin, 
Threw their weapons and their war-gear, 
Leaped into the rushing river, 
Washed the war-paint from their faces. 
Clear above them flowed the water, 



Clear and limpid from the footprint* 
Of the Master of Life descending ; 
Dark below them flowed the water, 
Soiled and stained with streaks 

crimson, 
As if blood were mingled with it ! 

From the river came the warriors' 
Clean and washed from all their wa: 

paint ; 
On the banks their clubs they buriec 
Buried all their warlike weapons. 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
The Great Spirit, the Creator, 
Smiled upon his helpless children ! 
And in silence all the warriors 
Broke the red stone of the quarry, 
Smoothed and formed it into Peaci 

Pipes, 
Broke the long reeds by the river, 
Decked them with their bright*) 

feathers, 
And departed each one homeward, 
While the Master of Life, ascending 
Through the opening of cloud-curtair 
Through the doorways of the heave:: 
Vanished from before their faces, 
In the smoke that rolled around hin 
The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe ! 



THE FOUR WINDS. 



" Honour be to Mudjekeewis !" 
Cried the warriors, cried the old men, 
When he came in triumph homeward 
With the sacred Belt of Wampum, 
From the regions of the North- Wind, 
From the kingdom of Wabasso, 
From the land of the White Rabbit. 

He had stolen the Belt of Wampum 
From the neck- of Mishe-Mokwa, 
From the Great Bear of the mountains, 
From the terror of the nations, 



As he lay asleep and cumbrous 
On the summit of the mountains, 
Like a rock with mosses on it, 
Spotted brown and grey with mosse : 

Silently he stole upon him, 
Till the red nails of the monster 
Almost touched him, almost scare e 

him, 
Till the hot breath of his nostrils 
Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis/ 
As he drew the Belt of Wampum : 



Tin 

the round cars, that heard not, 
the small eyes, that taw not, 
Jver the long noae and nostrils, 
>f he black muiHe of the nostrils, 
)ut of which the heavy breathing 
F armed the hands of Mudjek 
Then he swung aloft his war-club, 

. houted loud and long his war-cry, 

mote the mig ; 

■ the middle of the forehead, 
Jght between the eyes he smoie him. 

With the heavy blow bewildered, 
Lose the Great Hear of the mou- 
nt his knees beneath him trembled, 
ind he whimpered like a v. 

he reeled 
' he sat upon his haunches ; 
id the mighty Mudjek* 

nding fearlessly before him, 
•: .muted him in loud deri 
lake disdainfully in this wise-: — 
•• Mark you, Bear! you 

3| iid no Brave, at fOU pretended ; 

i he you would not cry and whimper 

bis woman ! 

■ tr ! you know our tribe, are hostile, 
: |ng have beta at war together ; 
>w you find that we are stro:. 

IMi go sneaking in the forest. 
Ii] go hiding in the mount 
id you conquered me in battle, 
It a groan would 1 have uttered ; 
t you. Hear ! sit here and whimper, 
Id disgrace your tribe by crying, 
pe a wretched Shaugodaya, 
te a cowardly old woman !" 
Qnen again he raised his war-club, 
)te again the Mishe-Mokwa 
the middle of his forel: 
>ke his skull, as ice is broken 
lien one goes to fish in Winter. 
us was slain the .Mehe-Mokwa, 
the Great Bear of the mountains, 
the tenor of the nations. 



33 1 

" Honour be to Mudjekeewis !" 
With a shout exclaimed the people, 
M Honour be to Mudjekec 
Henceforth he shall bethi \\ est- Wind, 
And hereafter and for ever 
Shall he hold supreme dominion 
Over all the winds of he 
Call hin 
Call him Kabeyun. . 

Thll vkeewis chosen 

Father of the Wind 

Unto \ 

South to S 
( And the North- Wind, wild and cruel. 

To the fierce Kabibooo 

He it l light the morning, 

r hill and \ 

H ere painted 
W ith the bri, 

the village, 
Called the dl ' the hunter, 

•ly in the sky v. .. . \\ Jam ; 
ing gaily to him, 
Though the v.ild-flowersof themeadow 
Filled the air with odours for him, 
Though the forests and the rivers 
Sang and shouted at his coming, 
Still his heart was bad within him, 
For he was alone in heaven. 

But one morning, gazing earthward, 
While the village still was Bleeping, 
And the fog lay on the rj 
Like a ghost, that goes at sunrise, 
He beheld a maiden walking 
All alone upon a meadow, 
Gathering water-flags and rushes 
By a river in the meadow. 

Every morning, gazing earthward, 
Stiil the first thing he beheld there 
looking at him, 



332 THE SONG OF 

Two blue lakes among the rushes. 
And he loved the lonely maiden, 
Who thus waited for his coming ; 
For they both were solitary, 
She on earth and he in heaven. 

And he wooed her with caresses, 
Wooed her with his smile of sunshine, 
With his flattering words he wooed her, 
With his sighing and his singing, 
Gentlest whispers in the branches, 
Softest music, sweetest odours, 
Till he drew her to his bosom, 
Folded in his robes of crimson, 
Till into a star he changed her, 
Trembling still upon his bosom ; 
And for ever in the heavens 
They are seen together walking, 
Wabun and the Wabun-Annung, 
W r abun and the Star of Morning. 

But the fierce Kabibonokka 
Had his dwelling among icebergs, 
In the everlasting snow-drifts, 
In the kingdom of Wabasso, 
In the land of the White Rabbit. 
He it was whose hand in Autumn 
Painted all the trees with scarlet, 
Stained the leaves with red and yellow ; 
He it was who sent the snow-flakes, 
Sifting, hissing through the forest, 
Froze the ponds, the lakes, the rivers, 
Drove the loon and sea-gull southward, 
Drove the cormorant and curlew 
To their nests of sedge and sea-tang 
In the realms of Shawondasee. 

Once the fierce Kabibonokka 
Issued from his lodge of snow-drifts, 
From his home among the icebergs, 
And his hair, with snow besprinkled, 
Streamed behind him like a river, 
Like a black and wintry river, 
As he howled and hurried southward, 
Over frozen lakes and moorlands. 

There among the reeds and rushes 
Found he Shingebis, the diver. 



HIAWATHA. 

Trailing strings of fish behind him, 
O'er the frozen fens and moorlands, 
Lingering still among the moorlands, 
Though his tribe had long departed 
To the land of Shawondasee. 

Cried the fierce Kabibonokka, 
" Who is this that dares to brave me! 
Dares to stay in my dominions, 
When the Wawa has departed, 
When the wild-goose has gone south 

ward, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Long ago departed southward ? 
I will go into his wigwam, 
I will put his smouldering fire out !" 

And at night Kabibonokka 
To the lodge came wild and wailing. 
Heaped the snow in drifts about it, 
Shouted down into the smoke-flue, 
Shook the lodge-poles in his fury, 
Flapped the curtain of the doorway. 
Shingebis, the diver, feared not, 
Shingebis, the diver, cared not ; 
Four great logs had he for fire-wooc 
One for each moon of the winter, 
And for food the fishes served him. 
By his blazing fire he sat there, _ 
Warm and merry, eating, laughing, 
Singing, " O Kabibonokka, 
You are but my fellow-mortal !" : .. 

Then Kabibonokka entered, 
And though Shingebis, the diver, 
Felt his presence by the coldness, 
Felt his icy breath upon him,^ 
Still he did not cease his singing, 
Still he did not leave his laughing 
Only turned the log a little. 
Only made the fire burn brighter, 
Made the sparks fly up the smoke-nY 

From Kabibonokka's forehead, 
From his snow-besprinkled tresses, 
Drops of sweat fell fast and heavy, , 
Making dints upon the ashes, 
As along the eaves of lodges, 



THE FOUR WL 



333 



As from drooping boughs of hemlock, 
Drips the melting snow in spring-time, 
Making hollows in the snow-drifts. 

Till at last he rose defeated, 
Could not bear the heat a 
Could not bear the m ing, 

IBut rushed headlong through the 

doorway, 

Stamped upon the crusted sr:ow-drifts, 
Stamped upon the lakes and rh 
Made the snow upon them ha: 
Made the ice upon them thicker, 
Challenged Shingebis, the diver. 
To come forth and wrestle with him, 
to come forth and wrestle naked 
• frozen fens and moorlands. 
Forth went Shingebis, the diver. 
Wrestled all night with the North- 
Wind, 
jVrcstled naked on the moorlands 
with the fierce Kabibonokka, 
"ill his panting breath gi i w Winter, 
till his fro/en | ..bier, 

fill he reeled and staggered bac 
(.nd retreated, baffled, beaten, 
ro the kingdom of Wabasso, 
[o the land of the White Rabbit, 
taring still the gusty laughter, 
jearing Shingebis, the diver, 
nging, " O Kabibom 
ou are but my fellow-mortal !" 
Shawondasee, fat and lazy. 
id his dwelling far to southward, 
the drowsy, dreamy sunshine, 
the never-ending Summer. 
p it was who sent the wood-birds, 
Int the robin, the Opechce. 
kit the blue-bird, the Owaissa, 
W the Shawshaw, sent the swallow, 
lit the wild-goose, Wawa, northward, 
pt the melons and tobacco, 
nd the grapes in purple clusters. 
'From his pipe the smoke ascending 
[led the sky with haze and vapour, 



Filled the air with dreamy softness, 
Gave a twinkle to the water, 
Touched the rugged hills with smooth- 
Brought the tender Indian Summer 
To the melancholy North-land, 
In the dreary .Moon of Snow—, 

Listk . 
In his life he had one shadow. 
In his heart one sorrow had he. 

./ing northward, 
Far away upon a prairie 
He beheld a maiden standing, 
Saw a tall and slender maiden 
All alone upon a prairie; 
Brightest given were all her garment;-. 
And her hair was like the sunshine. 

Day by day he gazed upon ; 
Day by day he sighed with pa 
Day by clay 1/ i him 

h love and ' 
For the maid v%ith yellow I 
But he was too fat and ! 
1 tir himself and 

) indolent and 
To pursu 

So he only gazed upon her, 
Only -at ami sighed with passion 
For the maiden of the prairie. 

Till one morning, lookingnorthward. 
He beheld her yellow tresses 
Changed and covered o'er with white- 
ness, 
Covered as with whitest snow-flakes. 
"Ah ! my brother from the North-land, 
From the kingdom of Wabasso, 
From the land of the White Rabbit ! 
You have stolen the maiden from me, 
You have laid your hand upon her, 
You have wooed and won my maiden, 
With your stories of the North-land !" 

Thus the wretched Shawondasee 
Breathed into the air his sorrow ; 
And the South- Wind o'er the prairie 



THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 



Wandered warm with sighs of passion, 
With the sighs of Shawondasee, 
Till the air seemed full of snow-flakes, 
Full of thistle-down the prairie, 
And the maid with hair like sunshine 
Vanished from his sight for ever ; 
Never more did Shawondasee 
See the maid with yellow tresses ! 

Poor, deluded Shawondasee ! 
'Twas no woman that you gazed at, 
'Twas no maiden that you sighed for, 
'Twas the prairie dandelion 



That through all the dreamy Summer 
You had gazed at with such longing, 
You had sighed for with such passion, 
And had puffed away for ever, 
Blown into the air with sighing. 
Ah ! deluded Shawondasee ! 

Thus the Four Winds were divided, 
Thus the sons of Mudjekeewis 
Had their stations in the heavens ; 
At the corners of the heavens ; 
For himself the West- Wind only 
Kept the mighty Mudjekeewis. 



III. 



HIAWATHAS CHILDHOOD. 



Downward through the evening twi- 
light, 
In the days that are forgotten, 
In the unremembered ages, 
From the full moon fell Nokomis, 
Fell the beautiful Nokomis, 
She a wife, but not a mother. 

She was sporting with her women, 
Swinging in a swing of grape-vines, 
When her rival, the rejected, 
Full of jealousy and hatred, 
Cut the leafy swing asunder, 
Cut in twain the twisted grape-vines, 
Asd Nokomis fell affrighted 
Downward through the evening twi- 
light, 
On the Muskoday, the meadow, 
On the prairie full of blossoms. 
" See ! a star falls !" said the people ; 
" From the sky a star is falling !" 

There among the ferns and mosses, 
There among the prairie lilies, 
On the Muskoday, the meadow, 
In the moonlight and the starlight, 
Fair Nokomis bore a daughter, 
And she called her name Wenonah, 
As the first-born of her daughters. 



And the daughter of Nokomis 
Grew up like the prairie lilies, 
Grew a tall and slender maiden, 
With the beauty of the moonlight, 
W r ith the beauty of the starlight. 

And Nokomis warned her often, 
Saying oft, and oft repeating, 
" O, beware of Mudjekeewis ; 
Of the West- Wind, Mudjekeewis ; 
Listen not to what he tells you ; 
Lie not down upon the meadow. 
Stoop not down among the lilies, 
Lest the West- Wind come and harm- 
you ! " 

But she heeded not the warning, 
Heeded not those words of wisdom, 
And the "West- Wind came at evening, 
Walking lightly o'er the prairie, 
W r hispering to the leaves and blossoms J 
Bending low the flowers and grasses, 
Found the beautiful W r enonah, 
Lying there among the lilies, 
W r ooedher with his words of sweetness, 
W r ooed her with his soft caresses. 
Till she bore a son in sorrow, 
Bore a son of love and sorrow. 

Thus was born mv Hiawatha, 



HIAWATHA'S 

[Thus was born the child of wonder ; 

But the daughter of Nokomis, 

Hiawatha's gentle mother, 
n her anguish died deserted 
y the West- Wind, false and faithless, 
y the heartless Mudjekecwis. 
For her daughter, long and loudly 

(Vailed and wept the sad Nokomis ; 
that I were dead," she murmured, 

that I were dead, as thou art ! 
Ijo more work, and no more weeping, 
.Vahouowin ! VVahonowin !" 

By the shores of Gitche Gun. 
Jy the shininj iter, 

tood the wigwam of Nok( 
laughter of the Moon, Nokomis. 
Dark behind it treat, 

lose the black and gloom) 
Lose the firs with cones upon them 

light before it beat the water, 

tat the clear and sunny w . 

eat the shining Big-S 
There the wrinkled, old Nokomis 
lined the little Hiawatha, 
bcked him in his linden c 
tdded soft in moss and ru 
lately bound with reindeer sinews; 
, tilled his fretful wail 
Hush! the \ .'. d "> . . I thee!" 
.tilled him into slumber, singing, 
I ! my little owlet! 

1 i is this, that lights the wigwam? 
1 .is great eyes lights the wigwam ? 
^va-yea! my little owlet !" 

| Many things Nokomis taught him 
;pf the stars that shine in heaven ; 

bowed him Ishkoodah, the comet, 

•shkoodah, with fiery tre 

lowed the Death- Dance of the spirits, 

Warriors with their plumes and war- 
clubs, 

■taring far away to northward 

n the frosty nights of Winter ; 

■owed the broad, whiteroad in heaven, 



CHILDHOOD. 33 $ 

Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, 
Running straight across the heavens, 
Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows. 

At the door on Summer evenings 
Sat the little Hiawatha; 
Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, 
Heard the lapping of the water, 
Sounds of music, words of wonder ; 
" Minne-wawa !" said the pine-trees, 
" Mudway-aushka !" said the water. 

Saw the lire-fly, Wah-wah-t . 
Flitting through the dusk of evening, 
\\ ith the twinkle of its candle 
Lighting up the brakes and bushes, 
And he Bang the song of children, 
Sang the song Nokomis taught him : 
" Wah-wah-taysee, little (ire-lly, 
Little, Hitting, white-lire insect, 
Little, dancing, white-fire creature, 
Light me with your little candle, 

. 1 lay me, 
Eie in sleep I I lids !" 

Saw the moon rise from the water, 
Rippling, rounding from the w . 
i it, 
red. '• What is that, Nokomis?' 
And the good Nokomis answered : 

a warrior, very an 
Seized his grandmother, and threw her 
Lp into the sky at midnight ; 
Right against the moon he threw her ; 
'Tis her bod)' that you see there." 

Saw the rainbow in the heaven, 
In the eastern sky the rainbow, 
Whispered, " What is that, Nokomis?" 
And the good Nokomis answered : 
" 'Tisthe heaven of Mowers you see there ; 
All the wild-flowers of the forest, 
All the lilies of the prairie. 
When on earth they fade and perish, 
Blossom in that heaven above us." 

When he heard the owls at midnight, 
Hooting, laughing in the forest, 
'• What is that ?" hp cried in terror? 



336 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



'• What is that," he said, " Nokomis r" 
And the good Nokomis answered : 
" That is but the owl and owlet, 
Talking in their native language, 
Talking, scolding at each other." 

Then the little Hiawatha 
Learned of every bird its language, 
Learned their names and all their secrets, 
How they built their nests in Summer, 
Where they hid themselves in Winter, 
Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
Called them " Hiawatha's Chickens." 

Of all beasts he learned the language, 
Learned their names and all their secrets, 
How the beavers built their lodges, 
Where the squirrels hid their acorns, 
How the reindeer ran so swiftly, 
Why the rabbit was so timid, 
Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
Called them " Hiawatha's Brothers." 

Then Iagoo, the great boaster, 
He the marvellous story-teller, 
He the traveller and the talker, 
He the friend of old Nokomis, 
Made a bow for Hiawatha ; 
From a branch of ash he made it, 
From an oak-bough made the arrows, 
Tipped with flint, and winged with 

feathers, 
And the cord he made of deer-skin. 

Then he said to Hiawatha — 
" Go, my son, into the forest, 
"Where the red deer herd together, 
Kill for us a famous roebuck, 
Kill for us a deer with antlers !" 

Forth into the forest straightway 
All alone walked Hiawatha 
Proudly, with his bow and arrows ; 
And the birds sang round him, o'er him, 
" Do not shoot us, Hiawatha !" 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
Sang the blue-bird, the O 
" Do not shoot us, Hiawatha ! " 

Up the oak-tree, close beside him, 



Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
In and out among the branches, 
Coughed and chattered from the oak- 
tree, 
Laughed, and said between his laughing.. 
"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!" 

And the rabbit from his pathway 
Leaped aside, and at a distance 
Sat erect upon his haunches, 
Half in fear and half in frolic, 
Saying to the little hunter, 
" Do not shoot me, Hiawatha !" 

But he heeded not, nor heard them; 
For his thoughts were with the red deer 
On their tracks his eyes were fastened 1 
Leading downward to the river, 
To the ford across the river, 
And as one in slumber walked he. 

Hidden in the alder-bushes, 
There he waited till the deer came, 
Till he saw two antlers lifted, 
Saw two eyes look from the thicket, 
Saw two nostrils point to windward, 
And a deer came down the pathway, 
Flecked with leafy light and shadow.! 
And his heart within him fluttered, 
Trembled like the leaves above him, : 
Like the birch-leaf palpitated, 
As the deer came down the pathway- 
Then, upon one knee uprising, 
Hiawatha aimed an arrow ; 
Scarce a twig moved with his motior 
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled, 
But the wary roebuck started, 
Stamped with ail his hoofs together, 
Listened with one foot uplifted, 
Leaped as if to meet the arrow ; 
Ah ! the singing, fatal arrow, 
Like a wasp it buzzed and stung hin 

Dead he lay there in the forest, 
By the ford across the river ; 
Beat his timid heart no longer, 
But the heart of Hiawatha 
Throbbed and shouted and exulted, 



HIAWATHA AXD MUDJEKEEWIS. 



331 



As he bore the red deer homeward, 

And Iagoo and Nokomis 

Hailed his coming with applauses. 

From the red deer's hide Nbkomia 
Made a cloak for Hiawatha, 
From the red deer's flesh Nokomis 



I Made a banquet in his honour. 

J All the village came and feasted, 
All the guests praised Hiawatha, 
Called himStrong-Heart,Soan-ge-taha ! 
Called him Loon-heart, Mahn-go- 
tays 



IV. 



HIAWATHA AXD MUDJEKEEWIS. 



Out of childhood into manhood 
j Now had grown my Hiawatha, 

Skilled in all the craft o{ hunters, 
! Learned in all the lore of old men, 

In all youthful sports and pastimes, 
1 In all manly arts and labours. 
Swift of foot was Hiawatha ; 

He could shoot an arrow from him, 

And run for.' 

That the arrow fell behind him ! 

Strong of arm was Hiawatha ; 
i arrows upw 

Shoot them with such . 
Bwiftfl 

That the tenth had left the 

Ere the first to earth had ; 
He had mittens, IVfinjekahwun, 

Magic mittens mat kin ; 

\\ hen upon his hands he wore them, 

He could smite the rocks asunder, 
could grind them into powder. 

lie had mocca iins enchanted. 

Magic moccasins of deer-skin ; 

When he bound them round his . 

When upon his feet he tied them, 

At each stride a mile he measured ! 
Much he questioned old Nok< 
. Of his father Mudjekeewis ; 

Learned from her the fatal sec 

Of the beauty of his moti 

Of the falsehood of his f . 

And his heart was hot within ! 

Like a living coal his heart was. 



Then he said to old Nokomis, 
" I will go to Mudjekeewis, 

See how fares it with my father, 
At the doorways of the \\ 
At the portals of the Sunset !" 

From his ledge went Hiawatha, 

lined for hunting ; 
:. .shirt and leg 
Richly wrought with quills and 

wampum ; 
On his I .'e-feathers, 

Round his waist his belt of wampum, 
In his hand 

Strung with sinews of the reind 
In his quiver oaken arrows, 

.! with jasper, winged with 
feathers ; 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
With his moccasins enchanted. 

Warning said the old Nokomis, 
" Go not forth, O Hiawatha ! 
To the kingdom of the West-Wind, 
To the realms of Mudjekeewis, 
Lest he harm you with his magic, 
Lest he kill you with his cunning !" 

But the fearless Hiawatha 
Heeded not her woman's warning ; 
Forth he strode into the forest, 
At each stride a mile he measured ; 
Lurid seemed the sky above him, 
Lurid seemed the earth beneath him, 
Hot and close the air around him, 
Filled with smoke and fiery vapours, 



333 



THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 



As of burning woods and prairies, 
For his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 

So hejourneyed westward, westward, 
Left the fleetest deer behind him, 
Left the antelope and bison ; 
Crossed the rushing Esconawbaw, 
Crossed the mighty Mississippi, 
Passed the Mountains of the Prairie, 
Passed the land of Crows and Foxes, 
Passed the dwellings of the Blackfeet, 
Came unto the Rocky Mountains, 
To the kingdom of the West- Wind, 
Where upon the gusty summits 
Sat the ancient Mudjekeewis, 
Ruler of the winds of heaven. 

Filled with awe was Hiawatha 
At the aspect of his father. 
On the air about him wildly 
Tossed and streamed his cloudy tresses, 
Gleamed like drifting snow his tresses, 
Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet, 
Like the star with fiery tresses. 

Filled with joy was Mudjekeewis 
When he looked on Hiawatha, 
Saw his youth rise up before him 
In the face of Hiawatha, 
Saw the beauty of Wenonah 
From the grave rise up before him. 

" W r elcome !" said he, " Hiawatha, 
To the kingdom of the West- Wind ! 
Long have I been waiting for you ! 
Youth is lovely, age is lonely, 
Youth is fiery, age is frosty ; 
You bring back the days departed, 
You bring back my youth of passion, 
And the beautiful Wenonah !" 

Many days they talked together, 
Questioned, listened, waited, answered 
Much the mighty Mudjekeewis 
Boasted of his ancient prowess, 
Of his perilous adventures, 
His indomitable courage. 
His invulnerable body. 



Patiently sat Hiawatha, 
Listening to his father's boasting ; 
With a smile he sat and listened, 
Uttered neither threat nor menace, 
Neither word nor look betrayed him, 
But his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 

Then he said, " O Mudjekeewis, 
Is there nothing that can harm you ? 
Nothing that you are afraid of ?" 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis, 
Grand and gracious in his boasting, 
Answered, saying, " There is nothing, 
Nothing but the black rock yondtr, 
Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek l" 

And he looked at Hiawatha 
With a wise look and benignant, 
With a countenance paternal, 
Looked with pride upon the beauty 
Of his tall and graceful figure, 
Saying, " O my Hiawatha ! 
Is there anything can harm you 1 
Anything you are afraid of ?" 

But the wary Hiawatha 
Paused awhile, as if uncertain, 
Held his peace, as if resolving, 
And then answered, " There is nothing, 
Nothing but the bulrush yonder, 
Nothing but the great Apukwa !" 

And as Mudjekeewis, rising, 
Stretched his hand to pluck the bulrush, 
Hiawatha cried in terror, 
Cried in well-dissembled terror, 
" Kago ! kago ! do not touch it !" 
"Ah, kaween!" said Mudjekeewis, 
" No, indeed, I will not touch it !" 

Then they talked of other matters ,- 
First of Hiawatha's brothers, 
First of Wabun, of the East-Wind, 
Of the South- Wind, Shawondasee, 
Of the North, Kabibonokka ; 
Then of Hiawatha's mother, 
Of the beautiful Wenonah, 
Of her birth upon the meadow, 



HIAWATHA A XD 
Of her death, as old Nokomis 
Had remembered and related. 

And he cried, "O Mudjekeewis, 
It was you who killed Wenonah, 
! Took her young life and her beauty, 
I Broke the Lily of the Prairie, 
| Trampled it beneath your footsteps ; 
You confess it! you confe 
And the mighty .Mudjekeewis 
j Tossed upon the wind his tresses, 
d his hoary head in anguish, 
\\ ith a silent nod assented. 

Then up started Hiawatha, 
And with threatening look and gesture, 
Laid his hand upon the black rock. 
On the fatal \\ awbeek laid it, 
\\ ith his mittens, Vfmjekahwun, 
Rent the jutting sag asm 
Smote and crushed it into fragments, 
them madly at his father, 
rul Mudjek< 
J'or his heart wa » hot within him, 

Like a living coal hi i heai 

i But the ruler of the \\ est- Wind 

Blew the fragments I ackwaid from him, 

IVith the breathing of his no trils, 
A\ itli the tempest of hi. anger. 

llew them back at his assaUaat j 
leixed the bulrush, the Apukwa, 

it>ragged it with its roots and fibres 
From the margin of the meadow, 
from its ooze, the giant bulrush ; 
Long and loud laughed Hiawatha! 
■ Then began the deadly conflict, 

I to hand among the mountains; 
From his eyrie screamed the eagle, 
the Keneu, the great war-eagle; 
3at upon the crags around them, 
Wheeling Happed his wings above them, 
Like a tall tree in the tempest 
and fished the giant bulrush ; 
And in masses huge and heavy 
2rasl>.ing fell the fatal Wawbeek ; 
Till the earth shook with the tumult 



JEKEEWIS. 339 

And confusion of the battle, 
And the air was full of shoutings, 
And the thunder of the mountains, 
Start!: '. " Baim-wawa !" 

Back : 
flushing westward o'er the mou 
Stumbling westward down the moun- 
tains, 
Three whole days retreated fighl 
Still pur w-atha 

To the doorways of the West-Wind, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the earth's remotest border, 
\\ here into the empty spaces 
Sinks the on, as a flamingo 

at nightfall, 
In the melancholy marshes, 

"11 Vludje- 

" Hold, my son, my Hiawatha I 
'Ti . impossible to kill me, 

HI cannot kill the immortal. 
1 have put you to this trial. 
But to know and prove your courage; 
rive the prize of valour ! 
■ back to your home and people. 
Live among them, toil among them. 
Cleanse the earth from all that harms it, 
Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers, 
Slay all monsters and magicians, 
All the Wendigoes, the giants, 
All the serpents, the Kenabeeks, 
As I slew the Mishc-Mokwa, 
Slew the Great Bear of the mountains. 

" .And at last when Death draws 
near you, 
When the awful eyes of Pauguk 
Glare upon you in the darkness, 
I will share my kingdom with you, 
Ruler shall you be thenceforward 
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, 
Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin." 

Thus was fought that famous battle 
In the dreadful days of Shah-shah, 



34° 



THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 



In the days long since departed, 
In the kingdom of the West- Wind. 
Still the hunter sees its traces 
Scattered far o'er hill and valley; 
Sees the giant bulrush growing 
By the ponds and water-courses, 
Sees the masses of the Wawbeek 
Lying still in every valley. 

Homeward now went Hiawatha ; 
Pleasant was the landscape round him, 
Pleasant was the air above him, 
For the bitterness of anger 
Had departed wholly from him, 
From his brain the thought of vengeance, 
From his heart the burning fever. 

Only once his pace he slackened, 
Only once he paused or halted, 
Paused to purchase heads of arrows 
Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
Where the Falls of Minnehaha 
Flash and gleam among the oak-trees, 
Laugh and leap into the valley. 

There the ancient Arrow-maker 
Made his arrow-heads of sandstone, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony, 
AiTow-heads of flint and jasper, 
Smoothed and sharpened at the edges, 
Hard and polished, keen and costly. 

With him dwelt his dark-eyed 
daughter, 
Wayward as the Minnehaha, 
With her moods of shade and sunshine, 



Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate, 

Feet as rapid as the river, 

Tresses flowing like the water, 

And as musical a laughter ; 

And he named her from the river, 

From the water-fall he named her, 

Minnehaha, Laughing Water. 

Was it then for heads of arrows, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony, 
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, 
That my Hiawatha halted 
In the land of the Dacotahs ? 

Was it not to see the maiden, 
See the face of Laughing Water 
Peeping from behind the curtain, 
Hear the rustling of her garments 
From behind the waving curtain, 
As one sees the Minnehaha 
Gleaming, glancing through the 

branches, 
As one hears the Laughing Water 
From behind its screen of branches ? 

Who shall say what thoughts and 
visions 
Fill the fiery brains of young men ? 
Who shall say what dreams of beauty 
Filled the heart of Hiawatha ? 
All he told to old Nokomis, 
When he reached the lodge at sunset, 
Was the meeting with his father. 
Was his fight with Mudjekeewis ; 
Not a word he said of arrows,. 
Not a word of Laughing Water ! 



HIAWATHA S FASTING. 



You shall hear how Hiawatha 
Prayed and fasted in the forest, 
Not for greater skill in hunting, 
Not for greater craft in fishing, 
Not for triumphs in the battle, 
And renown among the warriors, 



-. 



But for profit of the people, 
For advantage of the nations. 

First he built a lodge for fasting, 
Built a wigwam in the forest, 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
t In the blithe and pleasant Spring-time, 



HIAWATHA'S FASTIXG. 

In the Moon of Leaves he built it, 

And, with dreams and visions many, 

Seven whole days and nights he fasted. 
On the first day of his fasting 

Through the leafy wood:, he wai 

Saw the deer start from the thicket, 

Saw the rabbit in his burrow. 

Heard the pheasant, Bena, drumming, 

Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 

Rattling in his hoard of acorns, 

Saw the pigeon, the Omeme, 

Building nests among the pine-trees, 

And in flocks the wiid goose, Wawa 

Flying to the fen-lands northward, 

Whirring, wailing far above him. 

I er of Life ! ' ' he cried, desponding, 

" .Must our lives depend on these 
thi: v 
On the next day of his fasting 

By the river's brink be wandered, 
Through the Muakoday, the meadow, 
Saw the wild rice. Mahnon 
Saw the blueberry, Meenal 
And the strawberry, Odahmin, 
And the gooseberry, Shahbomin, 
And the grape-vine, the Bemahgut, 
Trailing o'er the alder-branches, 
Filling all the air with frag 
" Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, 
"Must our lives depend on these 
things ?" 
On the third day of his fasting 
By the lake he sat and pondered, 
By the still, transparent water; 
Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping, 
Scattering drops like beads of wampum, 
Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa, 
Like a sunbeam in the water, 
Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, 
And the herring, Okahahwis, 
And the Shawgashee, the craw - 
" Master of Life !" he cried. desponding, 
" Must our lives depend on these 
things ?" 



34* 

On the fourth day of his fasting 
In his lodge he lay exhausted ; 
From his couch of leaves and branches 
Gazing with half-open eyelids, 

i shadowy dreams and visions, 
On the dizzy, swimming landscape, 
On the gleaming of the water, 
On the splendour of the sunset. 

And he saw a youth approaching, 
1 in garments green and yellow, 
Coming through the purple twilight, 
Through the splendour of the sunset ; 
Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead, 
And his hair was soft and golden. 

Standing at the open doorway, 
Long he looked at Hiawatha, 
Looked with pity and com] 
On his wasted form and features, 
And. in accents like the sighing 

South- Wind in the tree-tops, 

; [iawatha ! 

All your prayers are heard in heaven, 
For you pray not like the others, 
Not for greater skill in hunting, 
Not for greater craft in fishing, 
Not for triumph in the battle, 
Nor renown among the warriors, 
But for profit of the people, 
For advantage of the nations. 

" From the Master of Life descend- 



ing, 



the friend of man, Mondamin, 
Come to warn you and instruct you, 
How by struggle and by labour 
You shall gain what you have prayed for. 
Rise up from your bed of branches, 
Rise, () youth, and wrestle with me !" 

Faint with famine, Hiawatha 
Started from his bed of branches, 
From the twilight of his wigwam 
Forth into the flush of sunset 
Came, and wrestled with Mondamin ; 
At his touch he felt new courage 
Throbbing in his brain and bosom, 



343 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



Felt new life and hope and vigour 
Run through every nerve and fibre. 

So they wrestled there together 
In the glory of the sunset, 
And the more they strove and struggled, 
Stronger still grew Hiawatha ; 
Till the darkness fell around them, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine-trees, 
Gave a cry of lamentation, 
Gave a scream of pain and famine. 

" 'lis enough !" then said Mondamin, 
Smiling upon Hiawatha, 
" But to-morrow, when the sun sets, 
I will come again to try you." 
And he vanished, and was seen not ; 
Whether sinking as the rain sinks, 
Whether rising as the mists rise, 
Hiawatha saw not, knew not, 
Only saw that he had vanished, 
Leaving him alone and fainting, 
With the misty lake below him, 
And the reeling stars above him. 

On the morrow and the next day, 
When the sun through heaven de- 
scending, 
Like a red and burning cinder, 
From the hearth of the Great Spirit, 
Fell into the western waters, 
Came Mondamin for the trial, 
For the strife with Hiawatha ; 
Game as silent as the dew comes, 
From the empty air appearing, 
Into empty air returning, 
Taking shape when earth it touches, 
But invisible to all men 
In its coming and its going. 

Thrice they wrestled there together 
In the glory of the sunset, 
Till the darkness fell around them, 
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine-trees, 
Uttered her loud cry of famine, 
And Mondamin paused to listen. 



Tall and beautiful he stood there. 
In his garments green and yellow ; 
To and fro his plumes above him 
Waved and nodded with his breathing, 
And the sweat of the encounter 
Stood like drops of dew upon him. 

And he cried, " O Hiawatha ! 
Bravely have you wrestled with me, 
Thrice have wrestled stoutly with me, 
And the Master of Life, who sees us, 
He will give to you the triumph !" 

Then he smiled, and said! "To- 
morrow 
Is the last day of your conflict, 
Is the last day of your fasting. 
You will conquer and o'ercome mej 
Make a bed for me to lie in, 
Where the rain may fall upon me, 
Where the sun may come and warm me ; 
Strip these garments, green and yellow, 
Strip this nodding plumage from me, 
Lay me in the earth, and make it 
Soft and loose and light above me. 

" Let no hand disturb my slumber, 
Let no weed nor worm molest me, 
Let not Kahgahgee, the raven, 
Come to haunt me and molest me, 
Only come yourself to watch me, 
Till I wake, and start, and quicken, 
Till I leap into the sunshine." 

And thus saying, he departed ; 
Peacefully slept Hiawatha, 
But he heard the Wawonaissa, 
Heard the whippoorwill complaining. 
Perched upon his lonely wigwam ; 
Heard the rushing Sebowisha, 
Heard the rivulet rippling near him, 
Talking to the darksome forest ; 
Heard the sighing of the branches, 
As they lifted and subsided 
At the passing of the night- wind, 
Heard them, as one hears in slumber 
Far-off murmurs, dreamy whispers : 
Peacefully slept Hiawatha. 



HIAWATHA 
On the morrow came Nokomis, 
On the seventh day of his fasting, 
Came with food for Hiawatha, 
Came imploring and bewailing, 
Lest his hunger should o'ercome him, 
Lest his fasting should be fatal. 

But he tasted not, and touched not, 
Only said to her, " Nokomis, 
Wait until the sun is setting, 
Till the darkness falls atou 
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Crying from the desolate marshes, 
Tells us that the day is ended." 

Homeward weeping went Nokomis, 
Sorrowing for her Hiawatha, 

lest his strength should fail him, 
fasting should be fatal. 
awhile sat weary \. 
For the coming of Mondamin, 
Till the shadows, poinlin 
Lengthened over held and G 
Till the sun dropped from the l 
Floating on the waters westward, 
As a red leaf in the Autumn 
Falls and Boats upon the water. 
Falls and sinks into its bosom. 

And behold! the young Mondamin, 
With his soft and thiniu 
With his garments green and ] 
With his long and glossy plum | 
\ Stood and beckoned at the doorway. 
And as one in dumber walking, 
Pale and haggard, but undaunted, 
From the wigwam Hiawatha 
Came and wrestled with Mondamin. 
Roundabout him spun the landscape, 
i Sky and forest reeled together, 
| And his strong heart leaped within him, 
As the sturgeon leaps and struggles 
In a net to break its meshes. 
Like a ring of fire around him 
Blazed and flared the red horizon, 
And a hundred suns seemed looking 
At the combat of the WK 



'S FASTING. 343 

Suddenly upon the greensward 
All alone stood Hiawatha, 
Panting with his wild exertion, 
Palpitating with the struggle ; 
And before him, breathless, lifeless, 
Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled, 
Plumage torn, and garments tattered, 
Dead he lay there in the sunset. 

And victorious Hiawatha 
Made the grave as he commanded, 
Stripped the garments from Mondamin, 
Stripped his tattered plumage from him, 
Laid him in the earth, and made it 
Soft and loose and light above him ; 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From the melancholy moorlands, 
Gave a cry of lamentation, 
Gave a i 

Homeward then went Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokomis, 
And the seven days of his i 
Were accomplished and completed, 
But the place was not forgotten 
Where he wrestled with Mondamin, 
Nor forgotten nor neglected 
Was the grave where lay Mondamin, 

in the rain and sunshine, 
Where his -mattered plumes and 

garments 
Faded in the rain and sunshine. 

Day by day did Hiaw 
Go to wait and watch beside it ; 
Kept the dark mould soil above it, 
Kept it clean from weeds and insects, 
Drove away, with scoffs and shoutings, 
Kahgahgee, the king of ravens. 

Till at length a small green feather 
From the earth shot slowly upward, 
Then another and another. 
And befora the Summer ended 
Stood the maize in all its beauty, 
With its shining robes about it, 
And its long, soft, yellow tresses ; 
And in rapture Hiawatha 



344 THE SONG OF 

Cried aloud, " It is Mondamin ! 
Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin V 

Then he called to old Nokomis 
And Iagoo, the great boaster, 
Showed them where the maize was 

growing, 
Told them of his wondrous vision, 
Of his wrestling and his triumph, 
Of this new gift to the nations, 
Which should be their food for ever. 

And still later, when the Autumn 



HIAWATHA. 
Changed the long, green leaves to yellow, 
And the soft and juicy kernels 
Grew like wampum hard and yellow, 
Then the ripened ears he gathered, 
Stripped the withered husks from off 

them, 
As he once had stripped the wrestler. 
Gave the first Feast of Mondamin, 
And made known unto the people 
This new gift of the Great Spirit 






VI, 



HIAWATHA S FRIENDS. 



Two good friends had Hiawatha, 

Singled out from all the others, 

Bound to him in closest union, 

And to whom he gave the right hand 

Of his heart, in joy and sorrow; 

Chibiabos, the musician, 

And the very strong man, Kwasind. 

Straight between them ran the path- 
way, 
Never grew the grass upon it ; 
Singing birds, that utter falsehoods, 
S tor y-tellers, mischief-makers, 
Found no eager ear to listen, 
Could not breed ill-will between them, 
For they kept each other's counsel, 
Spake with naked hearts together, 
Pondering much and much contriving 
How the tribes of men might prosper. 

Most beloved by Hiawatha 
Was the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the best of all musicians, 
He the sweetest of all singers. 
Beautiful and childlike was he, 
Brave as man is, soft as woman, 
Pliant as a wand of willow, 
Stately as a deer with antlers. 

When he sang, the village listened ; 
All the warriors gathered round him, 



All the women came to hear him 5 
Now he stirred their souls to passion, - 
Now he melted them to pity. 

From the hollow reeds he fashioned 
Flutes so musical and mellow, 
That the brook, the Sebowisha, 
Ceased to murmur in the woodland, 
That the wood-birds ceased from sing- - 

ing, 
And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Ceased his chatter in the oak-tree, 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Sat upright to look and listen. 

Yes, the brook, the Sebowisha, 
Pausing, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach my waves to flow in music, 
Softly as your words in singing !" 

Yes, the blue-bird, the Owaissa, 
Envious, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as wild and way- 
ward, 
Teach me songs as full of frenzy !" 

Yes, the robin, the Opechee, 
Joyous, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as sweet and tender, . 
Teach me songs as full of gladness !" 

And the whippoorwill, Wawonaissa, 
Sobbing, said, " O Chibiabos 



HIAWATHA 

JTeach me tones as melancholy, 
reach me songs as full of sadness!" 
All the many sounds of nature 
.ed sweetness from his sing- 
ing ; 

: hearts cf men were softened 
ly the pathos of his i 
r or he tang of peace and freedom, 
of beauty, love, and longing ; 
Jang of death, and life undying 
n the Islands of the Blessed, 
n the kingdom of Poncmah, 
h the land of the Hereafter. 

Very dear to I Hawatha 
-Vas the gentle Chihiabos, 
le the best of all musicians, 
■e the sweetest of all singers; 
lor his gentleness he loved him, 
Lnd the magic of his singing. 
Dear, too, unto Hiawatha 
Vas the very strong man, K 

the 
le the mightiest among many ; 

:.gth he loved him, 
.'.Hied tO gOO 
Idle in his youth was Kwasir.d, 
ry listless, dull, and dreamy, 
[ever played with other eh: 
per fished and never hunted, 
ot like other children was he; 
lit they saw that much he fasted, 
luch his Manito entreated, 
luch besought his Guardian Spirit. 

Kwasind !" said his mother, 
la my work you never help me ! 
l the Summer you are roaming 
41 y in the fields and forests ; 
\i the Wi vt ring 

ler the firebrands in the wigwam ! 
1 the coldest days of Winter 

^must break the ice for fishing; 
[ifh my nets you never help me ! 
.t the door my nets are hanging, 
flipping, freezing with the water ; 



•S FRIENDS. 345 

Go and wring them, Yenadizze ! 
Go and dry them in the sunshine !" 
>m the ashes, Kwasind 
Rose, but made no angry answer ; 
From the lodge went forth in silence. 
Took the nets, that hung together, 
Drippii at the doorway, 

Like a wisp of straw he wrung them, 
Like a wisp of straw he broke them, 
Could not wring them without breaking, 
Such the strength was in his fingers. 
I izy Kwasind!" said his father, 
" In the hunt you never help me; 
Every bow you touch is broken, 
Snapped asunder every arrow ; 
Yet come with me to the forest, 
You shall bring the hunting homeward." 

Down a narrow pass they wandered, 
a brooklet led them onward, 
Where t I bison 

Marked the soft mud on the margin, 
Till they found all forth* r 
Shut against them, barred securely 
By the trunks of trees uprooted. 

.-, lying CTQ 
And forbidding further passage. 

"Wemus! I the old man, 

" ( Va these logs we cannot clan 
Not a vvoodchuck could get through 

them, 
Not a squirrel clamber o'er them !" 
And straightway his pipe he lighted, 
And sat down to smoke and ponder. 
But before his pipe was finished, 
Lo ! the path was cleared before him ; 
All the trunks had Kwasind lifted, 
To the light hand, to the left hand, 
Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows, 
Hurled the cedars light as lances. 

" Lazy Kwasind !" said the young 
men, 
As they sported in the meadow; 
"' Why stand idly looking at us, 
Leaning on the reck behind you 



34-6 



> THE GONG OF HIA WA THA. 



Come and wrestle with the others, 
Let us pitch the quoit together !" 

Lazy Kwasind made no answer, 
To their challenge made no answer, 
Only rose, and slowly turning, 
Seized the huge rock in his fingers, 
Tore it from its deep foundation, 
Poised it in the air a moment, 
Pitched it sheer into the river, 
Sheer into the swift Pauwating, 
Where it still is seen in Summer, 

Once as down that foaming river, 
Down the rapids of Pauwating, 
Kwasind sailed with his companions, 
In the stream he saw a beaver, 
Saw Ahmeek, the King of Beavers, 
Struggling with the rushing currents, 
Rising, sinking in the water. 

Without speaking, without pausing, 
Kwasind leaped into the river, 



Plunged beneath the bubbling surface, 
Through the whirlpools chased the 

beaver, 
Followed him among the islands, 
Stayed so long beneath the water, 
That his terrified companions 
Cried, " Alas ! good-bye to Kwasind! - 
We shall never more see Kwasind !" 
But he reappeared triumphant, 
And upon his shining shoulders 
Brought the beaver, dead and dripping, 
Brought the King of all the Beavers, 

And these two, as I have told you, 
Were the friends of Hiawatha, 
Chibiabos, the musician, 
And the very strong man, Kwasind. 
Long they lived in peace together, 
Spake with naked hearts together, 
Pondering much and much contriving. 
How the tribes of men might prosper,'; ; 






VII. 



HIAWATHA S SAILING. 



" Give me of your bark, O Birch-Tree ! 
Of your yellow bark, O Birch-Tree ! 
Growing by the rushing river, 
Tall and stately in the valley ! 
I a light canoe will build me, 
Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, 
That shall float upon the river 
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily ! 

" Lay aside your cloak, O Birch- 
Tree ! 
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper, 
For the Summer-time is coming, 
And the sun is warm in heaven, 
And you need no white-skin wrapper!" 

Thus aloud cried Hiawatha 
In the solitary forest, 
By the rushing Taquamenaw, 
When the birds were singing gaily, 



In the Moon of Leaves were singing, 
And the sun, from sleep awaking, 
Started up and said, " Behold me ! 
Geezis, the great Sun, behold me !" 

And the tree with all its branches 
Rustled in the breeze of morning, 
Saying, with a sigh of patience, 
" Take my cloak, O Hiawatha !" 

With his knife the tree he girdled ; 
Just beneath its lowest branches, 
Just above the roots, he cut it, 
Till the sap came oozing outward ; 
Down the trunk, from top to bottom 
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder, 
With a wooden wedge he raised it, 
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken. 

" Give me of your boughs, O 
Cedar! 
Of your strong and pliant branches, 



WATHA'S SAILING. 



My canoe to make more steady, 

more strong and firm beneath 

I he summit of the Cedar 
d, a cry of horror, 

V\ cut a murmur of 

downward, 

•'Take my b,, 

Downhe hewed the b<, looked atWm, 

Shaped them Straightway to a . • his shining chills like arrows, " 

' , „ ; "g. with a drowsy murmur, 

vo bows he iormed and shaped Through the tangle of his whiskers 



347 
Made each crevice safe from water. 
" Give me of your quills, O Hedge- 
hog ! 
-vilyourquiils. O Kagh. the Hedgehog! 
I will make a necklace of them, 
.uty, 
trs to deek her boa 
From a hollow tree the Ha 1 . 



them 

\ then 
" Give me of your roots, U Tama- 
rack ! 

Of your fibrous root-. () Larch 

i bind the ends together 

Fhai the wan r ma] not i 

the river may not wet m 
id the Larch, with all its fibres, 
Shivered in th air of n* . 

Pouched his forehead with its tassels, 
paid, with one long sigh ofsom 
'Take them all, O Hiawaf 
^ From the earth he tore (he fibres. 
Fore the toug 

ewed the bark together, 

Sound it closely to the frame work. 

" Give me of your balm. ( > Fir-Tree ! 
)f your balsam and your resin, 
n to close the seams together 
hat the water may not enter, 
hat the river may not wet me !" 
, And the Fir-Tree, tall and sombre, 

i through all its robes of dai 
tattled like a shore with pi I 

red wailing, answer! 
Take my balm, () Hiawatha !" 

I he took the tears of balsam, 
look the resin of the Fir-T 
Wared therewith each 
fissure, 



Hiawatha!" 
From the ground the quills he 
gath 
All the little shining arrows, 

: them red and blue and yellow 
W ith the Jim :;( i berries; 

he wrought them, 
Round its waist a shining girdle. 
Round its bow:; a gleaming nee'/ 
dent 
Thus the Birch Canoe was 1 
In the valley, by the river. 
In the bosom of the forest ; 
And the forest's life was fan it, 
All its mystery and its magic, 
All the lightness of the birch-tree, 
All the toughness of the cedar, 
All the larch's supple sinews ; 
And it floated on the river 
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily. 

Paddles none had Hiawatha, 
Paddles none he had or needed, 
For his thoughts as paddles served 

him, 
And his wishes served to guide him ; 
Swift or slow at will he glided, 
Veered to right or left at pleasure. 

Then he called aloud to Xwasind, 
To his friend, the strong man, Kvvasind, 
Saying, « Help me clear this river 
Of its sunken logs and sand-bars." 



348 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



Straight into the river Kwasind 
Plunged as if he were an otter, 
Dived as if he were a beaver, 
Stood up to his waist in water, 
To his arm-pits in the river, 
Swam and shouted in the river, 
Tugged at sunken logs and branches, 
With his hands he scooped the sand- 
bars, 
With his feet the ooze and tangle. 

And thus sailed my Hiawatha 
Down the rushing Taquamenaw, 
Sailed through all its bends and windings, 



"Sailed through all its deeps and shallows 
While his friend, the strong man 

Kwasind, 

Swam the deeps, the shallows waded. 
Up and down the river went they, 
In and out among its islands, 
Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar, \ 
Dragged the dead trees from its channeV 
Made its passage safe and certain, 
Made a pathway for the people, 
From its springs among the mountains. 
To the waters of Pauwating, 
To the bay of Taquamenaw. 



VIII. 

HIAWATHA'S FISHING. 



Forth upon the Gitche Gumee, 
On the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
With his fishing-line of cedar, 
Of the twisted bark of cedar, 
Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma, 
Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes, 
In his birch canoe exulting 
All alone went Hiawatha. 

Through the clear, transparent water 
He could see the fishes swimming 
Far down in the depths below him ; 
See the yellow perch, the Sahwa, 
Like a sunbeam in the water, 
See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish, 
Like a spider on the bottom, 
On the white and sandy bottom. 

At the stem sat Hiawatha, 
With his fishing-line of cedar ; 
In his plumes the breeze of morning 
Played as in the hemlock branches ; 
On the bows, with tail erected, 
Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo ; 
In his for the breeze of morning 
Played as in the prairie grasses. 

On the white sand of the bottom 
Lav the monster Mishe-Nahma, 



Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes ; 
Through his gills he breathed the water 
With his fins he fanned and winnowed 
With his tail he swept the sand-floor 

There he lay in all his armour ; 
On each side a shield to guard him. 
Plates of bone upon his forehead, 
Down his sides and back and shoulder 
Plates of bone with spines projecting 
Painted was he with his war-paints, 
Stripes of yellow, red, and azure, 
Spots of brown and spots of sable ; 
And he lay there on the bottom, 
Fanning with his fins of purple, 
As above him Hiawatha 
In his birch canoe came sailing, 
With his fishing-line of cedar. 

" Take my bait !" cried Hiaw: 
Down into the depths beneath him, 
" Take my bait, O Sturgeon, Nahma 
Come up from below the water, 
Let us see which is the stronger !" 
And he dropped his line of cedar 
Through the clear, transparent water 
Waited vainly for an answer, 
Long sat waiting for an answer, 



ha 



HrAWATHA 
And repeating loud and lo 
" Take my bait, O King of Fishes !" 

Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Fanning slowly in I 

; up at Hiav. 
Listening to his call and cl 

ary tumult, 
ITU1 he wearied of the shouting; 
. And he said to the Keno/.ha, 
To the pike, the Masken- 
" Take the bait of this rude fellow, 
Break the line of Hiawatha!" 

In his fingers Hiawatha 
Felt the loose line jerk and tig' 
; As he drew it in, it tugged so 
!That th ioe stood endi 

Like a birch log in the water, 
With the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 

■d and frisking on the :,nmmit. 
Full of scorn was Hiawatha 
[When he saw the fish rii ; upward, 
Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, 
Coming nearer, nearer to \ 
And he shouted through I 

upon you ! 
• You are but the pikl 
You are not I 
You are not the King of Fi 

Reeling downward to the bottom 
(Sank the pike in great confusion, 
And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma, 
vaid to Ugudwash, the sun-fish. 
To the bream, with seales of crimson, 
' Take the bait of this great boaster, 
iBreak the line of Hiawat 

Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming, 
ose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
I the line of Hiawatha, 
with, all his weight upon i'., 
I lade a whirlpool in the wa 
fcVhirled the birch canoe in cir 
jjtound and round in gurgling eddies, 
Till the circles in the water 
\caclied the far-off sandy beaches, 



S FISHING. 349 

Till the water-flags and rushes 
Nodded on the distant margins. 
But when Hiawatha saw him 
Slowly rising through the water, 

refulgent, 
Loud he shouted in derision, 
" Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! 
You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
You are not the fish I wanted, 
Y r ou are not the King of Fishes !" 

downward, wavering, gle 
Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
And again the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Heard the shout of Hiawatha, 
Heard his challenge i 
The in necessary tumult, 

g far across the water. 
From the white sand of the bottom 
Up lie i lure, 

Quiveri 

Clashing all his plates of armour, 

ling bright with all his war-paint; 
wrath he darted upward, 
d into the sunshine, 
Opened his great jaws, and swallowed 
, e and 1 Eiawatha. 

Down into that darksome cavern 
Plunged the headlong Hiawatha, 
As a log on some black ri 
Shoots and plunges down the rapids, 
Found himself in utter darkness, 
Groped about in helpless wonder. 
Till he felt a great heart be 
Throbbing in that utter darl 

And he smote it in his anger, 
With his fist, the heart of Nahma, 
Felt the mighty King of Fishes 
Shudder through each nerve and fibre, 
Heard the water gurgle round him 
As he leaped and staggered through it, 
Sick at heart, and faint and weary. 

Crosswise then did Hiawatha 
Drag his birch canoe for safety, 
Lest from out the jaws of Nahma,, 



550 THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



In the turmoil and confusion, 
Forth he might be hurled and perish, 
And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Frisked and chattered very gaily, 
Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha 
Till the labour was completed. 

Then said Hiawatha to him, 
" O my little friend, the squirrel, 
Bravely have you toiled to help yne; 
Take the thanks of Hiawatha, 
And the name which now he gives 

you; 
For hereafter and for ever 
Boys shall call you Adjidaumo, 
Tail-in-air the boys shall call you !" 

And again the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Gasped and quivered in the water, 
Then was still, and drifted landv/ard 
Till he grated on the pebbles, 
Till the listening Hiawatha 
Heard him grate upon the margin, 
Felt him strand upon the pebbles. 
Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes, 
Lay there dead upon the margin. 

Then he heard a clang and flapping, 
As of many wings assembling, 
Heard a screaming and confusion, 
As of birds of prey contending, 
Saw a gleam of light above him, 
Shining through the ribs of Nahma, 
Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gufls, 
Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering, 
Gazing at him through the opening, 
Heard them saying to each other, 
"'Tis our brother, Hiawatha!" 

And he shouted from below Vhem, 
Cried exulting from the caverns i 
" O ye sea-gulls ! O my brothers ! 
I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma ; 
Make the rifts a little larger, 
With your claws the openings widen, 
Set me free from this dark prison, 
And henceforward and for ever 
Men shall speak of your achievements, 



Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, 
Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers !" 

And the wild and clamorous sea-gulls 
Toiled with beak and claws together, 
Made the rifts and openings wider 
In the mighty ribs of Nahma, 
And from peril and from prison, 
From the body of the sturgeon, 
From the peril of the water, 
They released my Hiawatha. 

He was standing near his wigwam 
On the margin of the water, 
And he called to old Nokomis, 
Called and beckoned to Nokomis, 
Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Lying lifeless on the pebbles, 
With the sea-gulls feeding on him. 

" I have slain the Mishe-Nahma, 
Slain the King of Fishes !" said he ; 
" Look ! the sea-gulls feed upon him, 
Yes, my friend Kayoshk, the sea-gulls 
Drive them not away, Nokomis, 
They have saved me from great peril 
In the body of the sturgeon ; 
Wait until their meal is ended, 
Till their craws are full with feasting, 
Till they homeward fly, at sunset, 
To their nests among the marshes ; 
Then bring all your pots and kettles, : 
And make oil for us in Winter." 

And she waited till the sun set, 
Till the pallid moon, the night-sun. 
Rose above the tranquil water, 
Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls, 
From their banquet rose with clamour 
And across the fiery sunset 
Winged their way to far-off" islands, 
To their nests among the rushes. 

To his sleep went Hiawatha, 
And Nokomis to her labour, 
Toiling patient in the moonlight, 
Till the sun and moon changed places 
Till the sky was red with sunrise. 
And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls, 






HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER. 



351 



Came back from the reedy islands, 
Clamorous for their morning banquet 

Three wholedays and nights alt 
Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls 
Stripped the oily flesh of Na 



Till the waves washed through the rib- 
bones, 
Till the sea-gulls came no longer, 
And upon the sands lay nothing 
But the skeleton of N 



IX. 



HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER. 



On the shores of Gitche Gumce, 
bfthe shining Big- 
Stood Nokomis, the old woman, 
Pointing with westward, 

p'er the water pointing westward, 
l'o the purple clouds of sunset. 
Fiercely the red sun descending 
ng the heavei 
let the sky on fire behind him, 
As war ; 

Burn the prairies on their 
Lndthe moon, the Night-Sun, eastward, 
uddenly starting from his ambush, 
followed fast those bloody footprints, 
[allowed in that fiery 
glare upon i 
And Nokomis, the old wi 
tinting with her linger westward, 
hake th< itha : 

Yonder dwell.!: - Feather, 

; cian, 
anito of \\ ealth and Wampum, 
tiarded by his fiery serpents, 
uarded by the black pitch-water, 
ou can see his fiery serpents, 
"ie Kenabeek, the gre.it serp 

playing in the wal 
PU can see the black pitch- 
far away beyond them, 
[o the purple clouds of sunset ! 
1 " Kc it was who Blew my father, 
jy his wicked wiles and cunning, 
Yhcn he from the moon descended, 
hen he came on earth to seek me. 



' 



He, the mightiest of Magicians, 
Sends the fever from the marshes, 
.ilential vapours, 
the poisonous exhalations. 
Sends the white fog from the fen-lands, 
Sends disease and death among ua ! 
•• Tak your bow, () Hiawatha, 
your arrow led, 

v :un, 
And your miitens, Minjekahwun, 

And the oil of Mishe-Nahma, 
So to sn . that swiftly 

You may pass the black pitch-water-, 

in, 
Save the people from the G 
That he breathes across the fen-land:'. 
And avenge my father's murder!" 

Straightway then my Hiawatha 
Armed himself with all hi 
Launched his birch . iling; 

With his palm its sides he patted. 
Said with glee, " Cheemaun, my d 
O my Birch Canoe ! leap forward, 
Where you see the fiery serpents, 
■c the black pitch-\. 

Forward leaped Cheemaun exulting, 
And the noble Hiawatha 
Sang his war-song wild and woful, 
And above him the war-eagle, 
The Keneu, the great war- 

►f all fowls with feathers, 
Screamed and hurtled through the 
heavens. 



352 



THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 



Soon he reached the fiery serpents, 
The Kenabeek, the great serpents, 
Lying huge upon the water, 
Sparkling, rippling in the water, 
Lying coiled across the passage, 
With their blazing crests uplifted, 
Breathing fiery fogs and vapours, 
So that none could pass beyond them. 

But the fearless Hiawatha 
Cried aloud, and spake in this wise : 
" Let me pass my way, Kenabeek, 
Let me go upon my journey !" 
And they answered, hissing fiercely, 
With their fiery breath made answer : 
" Back, go back ! O Shaugodaya ! 
Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!" 

Then the angry Hiawatha 
Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree, 
Seized his arrows, jasper-headed, 
Shot them fast among the serpents ; 
Eveiy twanging of the bow-string 
Was a war-cry and a death-cry, 
Every whizzing of an arrow 
Was a death-song of Kenabeek. 

Weltering in the bloody water, 
Dead lay all the fiery serpents, 
And among them Hiawatha 
Harmless sailed, and cried exulting : 
" Onward, O Cheemaun, my darling ! 
Onward to the black pitch- water !" 

Then he took the oil of Nahma, 
And the bows and sides anointed, 
Smeared them well with oil, that swiftly 
He might pass the black pitch-water. 

All night long he sailed upon it, 
Sailed upon that sluggish water, 
Covered with its mould of ages, 
Black with rotting water-rushes, 
Rank with flags and leaves of lilies, 
Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal, 
Lighted by the shimmering moonlight, 
And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined, 
Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled, 
In their weary night-encampments. 



All the air was white with moonlight] 
All the water black with shadow, 
And around him the Suggema, 
The mosquitos, sang their war-song, 
And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee, 
Waved their torches to mislead him ; 
And the bull-frog, the Dahinda, 
Thrust his head into the moonlight, 
Fixed his yellow eyes upon him, 
Sobbed and sank beneath the suiface ; 
And anon a thousand whistles 
Answered over all the fen-lands, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Far off on the reedy margin, 
Heralded the hero's coming. 

Westward thus fared Hiawatha, 
Toward the realm of Megissogwon, 
Toward the land of the Pearl- Feather 
Till the level moon stared at him, 
In his face stared pale and haggard, 
Till the sun was hot behind him, 
Till it burned upon his shoulders, 
And before him on the upland 
He could see the Shining Wigwam 
Of the Manito of Wampum, 
Of the mightiest of Magicians. 

Then once more Cheemaun he patted 
To his birch canoe said, " Onward ! " 
And it stirred in all its fibres, 
And with one great bound of triumpr. , 
Leaped across the water-lilies, 
Leaped through tangled flags and rushes 
And upon the beach beyond them 
Dry-shod landed Hiawatha. 

Straight he took his bow of ash- 
tree, 
On the sand one end he rested, 
With his knee he pressed the middle, 
Stretched the faithful bow-string tighter 
Took an arrow, jasper-headed, 
Shot it at the Shining Wigwam, 
Sent it singing as a herald, 
As a bearer of his message, 
Of his challenge loud and lofty: 



HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER. 



" Come forth from your lodge, Pearl- 
Feather ! 
Hiawatha waits your coming !" 
Straightway from the Shining 
warn 
Came the mighty Megissogwon, 
Tall of stature, broad of shoulder, 
Dark and tenable in aspect. 
Clad from head to foot in wampum, 
Armed with all his warlike weapons, 
Painted like the Bky of morning, 
Streaked with crimson, blue, and yellow, 
Crested with great eagle-feathers ! 
Streaming upward, streaming outward. 

" Well 1 know you, Hiawatha!" 
Cried he in a voice of thunder, 
In a tone of loud derision. 
" Hasten back, () Shaugodaya ! 

imong the women, 
Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart] 

I will slay J I and there, 

As of old I slew her father!" 

Hut my 1 [iawatha am wered, 
Nothing daunted, fearing nothing: 
*• Big words do not smite likewar-clubs, 
Boastful bn ath is not a 1 
Taunts are not so sharp 
Deeds are better things than words arc, 
Actions mightier than boasti] 

Then began the greatest battle 
That the sun had ever looked on. 
That the war-birds ever witnessed. 
All a Summer's day it lasted, 
From the sir u inset; 

For the shafts of Hiawatha 
Harmless hit the shirt of wampum, 
Harmless fell the blows he dealt it 
\\ ith his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Harmless fell the heavy war-club ; 
It could dash the rocks asunder, 
But it could not break the meshes 
Of that magic shirt of wampum. 

Till at sunset Hiawatha, 
Leaning on his bow of ash-tree, 



353 



Wounded, weary, and desponding, 
With his mighty war-club broken, 
With his mittens torn and tattered, 
And three useless arrows only, 
Paused to rest beneath a pine-tree, 
From whose branches trailed the mosses, 
And whose trunk was coated over 
With the Dead-man's Moccasin- 
leather, 
With the fungus white and yellow. 

Suddenly from the boughs above him 
Sang the Mama, the woodpecker: 
" Aim your arrows, Hiawatha, 
At the head of Megissogwon, 
Strike the tuft of hair upon it, 
At their roots the long black tresses; 
There alone can he 1 

Winged with feathers, tipped with 

Swift flew Hiawatha's arrow, 

. stooping, 
OW it. 

Full U] truck him, 

At the roots of his long b 

And he reeled and staggered forward, 
Plunging like a wounded I 
Yes, lib . th • bison, 

When the snow is on the prairie. 

Swifter flew the second arrow 
In the pathway of the other, 
Piercing deeper than the other, 
Y\ ounding sorer than the other ; 
And the knees of Y; 
Shook like windy reeds beneath him, 
Bent and trembled like the rushes. 

But the third and latest arrow 
Swiftest flew, and wounded sorest, 
And the mighty Megissogwon 
Saw the fiery eyes of Pauguk, 
Saw the eyes of Death glare at him, 
Heard his voice call in the darkness; 
At the feet of Hiav 
Lifeless lay the great Pearl-Feather, 
, Lay the mightiest of Magicians. 



354 



THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 



Then the grateful Hiawatha 
Called the Mama, the woodpecker, 
From his perch among the branches 
Of the melancholy pine-tree, 
And, in honour of his service, 
Stained with blood the tuft of feathers 
On the little head of Mama ; 
Even to this day he wears it, 
Wears the tuft of crimson feathers, 
Asa symbol of his service. 

Then he stripped the shirt of wam- 
pum 
From the back of Megissogwon, 
As a trophy of the battle, 
As a signal of his conquest. 
On the shore he left the body, 
Half on land, and half in water, 
In the sand his feet were buried, 
And his face was in the water. 
And above him wheeled and clamoured 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle, 
Sailing round in narrower circles, 
Hovering nearer, nearer, nearer. 

From the wigwam Hiawatha 
Bore the wealth of Megissogwon, 
All his wealth of skins and wampum, 
Furs of bison and of beaver, 
Furs of sable and of ermine, 
Wampum belts and strings and pouches, 
Quivers wrought with beads of 

wampum, 
Filled with arrows, silver-headed. 



Homeward then he sailed exulting, 
Homeward through the black pitch- 
water, 
Homeward through the weltering 

serpents, 
With the trophies of the battle, 
With a shout and song of triumph. 

On the shore stood old Nokomis, 
On the shore stood Chibiabos, 
And the very strong man, Kwasind, 
Waiting for the hero's coming, 
Listening to his song of triumph. 
And the people of the village 
Welcomed him with songs and dances, 
Made a joyous feast, and shouted : 
" Honour be to Hiawatha ! 
He has slain the great Pearl- Feather, 
Slain the mightiest of Magicians, 
Him, who sent the fiery fever, 
Sent the white fog from the fen-lands, 
Sent disease and death among us !" 

Ever dear to Hiawatha 
Was the memory of Mama ! 
And in token of his friendship, 
As a mark of his remembrance, 
He adorned and decked his pipe-stem 
With the crimson tuft of feathers, 
With the blood-red crest of Mama. 
But the wealth of Megissogwon, 
All the trophies of the battle, 
He divided with his people, 
Shared it equally among them. 



HIAWATHA S WOOING. 



"As unto the bow the cord is, 
So unto the man is woman, 
Though she bends him, she obeys him, 
Though she draws him, yet she follows, 
Useless each without the other !" 

Thus the youthful Hiawatha 
Said within himself and pondered, 



Much perplexed by various feelings, 
Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, 
Dreaming still of Minnehaha, 
Of the lovely Laughing Water, 
In the land of the Dacotahs. 

" Wed a maiden of your people," 
Warning said the old Nokomis ; 



HIAWATHA 
" Go not eastward, go not westward, 
For a stranger, whom we know not ! 
Like a fire upon the hearth-stone 
Is a neighbour's homely daughter. 
Like the starlight or the moonlight 
Is the handsomest of strangers !" 

Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, 
And my Hiawatha answered 
Only this: " Dear old Nokomis, 
Very pleasant is the firelight, 
But 1 like the starlight ! 
Better do I like the moonlight !" 

Gravely then said old Nokomis : 
, " Bring not here an idle maiden, 
Iking not here a useless woman, 
Hands unskilful, feet unwilling; 
Bring a wife with nimble tin. 

Heart and hand that move together, 

Feet that run on willing errands!' 1 

Smiling answered Hiawatha: 
" In the land of the Daeotahs 
Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Handsomest of all the women. 
I will bring her to your wigwam, 

She shall run upon your errands, 

Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight. 
Be the sunlight of my people !" 

Still dissuading said Nokomis: 
" Bring not to my lodge a stranger 
From the land of the Daeotahs ! 
Very fierce are the Daeotahs, 
Often is there war between us, 
There are feuds yet unforgotten, 
Wounds that acheand still may open !" 
Laughing answered Hiawatha: 
; " For that reason, if no other, 
| Would I wed the fair Dacotah, 
That our tribes might be united. 
That old feuds might lx> forgotten. 
And old wounds be healed for ever !" 

Thus departed Hiawatha 
To the land of the Daeotahs, 
To the land of handsome women ; 



'S WOOING. 3^ 

Striding over moor and meadow, 
Through interminable forests, 
Through uninterrupted silence. 

W ith his moccasins of magic, 
At each stride a mile he measured ; 
Yet the way seemed long before him, 
And his heart outran his footsteps; 
And he journeyed without resti 
Till he heard the cataract's laughter, 
Heard tl.e 1 alls of Minnehaha 
Calling to him through the sib i 

mt isthe sound ! " he murmured, 
•' 1 J k a- ant is the voice that calls me !" 

On the outskirts of the fi 
Twixt the shadow and the sunshine. 

of fallow deer were feeding, 
But t! I liawatha ; 

To hjfl bow he whispered, " bail not !" 

To his arrow whi pered," Swerve not I" 
Sent it i inging on its errand* 

To the red heart of the roebuck ; 
Threw the deer across his shoulder, 

And sped forward without pausing. 

\t the doorway of his wigwam 
Sat the ancient Arrow-maker. 

in the land of the Daeotahs, 

Making arrow-heads of jasper, 

Arrow -heads of chalcedony. 

At his side, in all her beauty, 

Sat the lovely Minnehaha, 

Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, 

Plaiting mats of flags and rushes ; 

Of the past the old man's thoughts were. 

And the maiden's of the future. 

He was thinking, as he sat there, 
Of the days when with such arrows 
1 le had struck the deer and bison, 
On the Muskoday, the meadow; 
Shot the wild goose, flying: southward 
On the wing, the clamorous Wawaj 
Thinking of the great war-parties, 
1 fow they came to buy his arrows, 
Could not fight without his arrows. 
Ah, no more such noble warriors 



65<5 



THE SONG OF HI A IV A THA. 



Could be found on earth as they were ; 
Now the men were all like women, 
Only used their tongues for weapons ! 

She was thinking of a hunter, 
From another tribe and country, 
Young and tall and very handsome, 
Who one morning, in the Spring- 
time, 
Came to buy her father's arrows, 
Sat and rested in the wigwam, 
Lingered long about the doorway, 
Looking back as he departed. 
She had heard her father praise him, 
Praise his courage and his wisdom ; 
Would he come again for arrows 
To the Falls of Minnehaha ? 
On the mat her hands lay idle, 
And her eyes were very dreamy. 

Through their thoughts they heard a 
footstep, 
Heard a rustling in the branches, 
And with glowing cheek and forehead, 
With the deer upon his shoulders, 
Suddenly from out the woodlands 
Hiawatha stood before them. 

Straight the ancient Arrow-maker 
Looked up gravely from his labour, 
Laid aside the unfinished arrow, 
Bade him enter at the doorway, 
Saying, as he rose to meet him, 
" Hiawatha, you are welcome !" 

At the feet of Laughing Water 
Hiawatha laid his burden, 
Threw the red deer from his shoulders ; 
And the maiden looked up at him, 
Looked up from her mat of rushes, 
Said with gentle look and accent, 
"You are welcome, Hiawatha!" 

Very spacious was the wigwam, 
Made of deer- skin dressed and whitened, 
With the Gods of the Dacotahs 
Drawn and painted on its curtains, 
And so tall the doorway, hardly 
Hiawatha stooped to enter, 



Hardly touched his eagle-feathers 
As he entered at the doorway. 

Then uprose the Laughing Water, 
From the ground fair Minnehaha, 
Laid aside her mat unfinished, 
Brought forth food and set before them, 
Water brought them from the brooklet, 
Gave them food in earthen vessels, 
Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, 
Listened while the guest was speaking, 
Listened while her father answered, 
But not once her lips she opened, 
Not a single word she uttered. 

Yes, as in a dream she listened 
To the words of Hiawatha, 
As he talked of old Nokomis, 
Who had nursed him in his childhood, 
As he told of his companions, 
Chibiabos, the musician, 
And the very strong man, Kwasind, 
And of happiness and plenty 
In the land of the Ojibways, 
In the pleasant land and peaceful. 

" After many years of warfare, 
Many years of strife and bloodshed, 
There is peace between the Ojibways 
And the tribe of the Dacotahs." 
Thus continued Hiawatha, 
And then added, speaking slowly, 
" That this peace may last for ever, 
And our hands be clasped more closely, 
And our hearts be more united, 
Give me as my wife this maiden, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Loveliest of Dacotah women ! " 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Paused a moment ere he answered, 
Smoked a little while in silence, 
Looked at Hiawatha proudly. 
Fondly looked at Laughing Water, 
And made answer veiy gravely : 
" Yes, if Minnehaha wishes ; 
Let your heart speak, Minnehaha ! " 

And the lovely Laughing Water 




"Over ivide and rushuig rivers 
In his arms he bore the maiden.' 



HIAWATHA 
Seemed more lovely, as she stood there; 
Neither willing nor reluctant, 
As she went to Hiawatha, 
Softly took the seat beside him, 
While she said, and blushed to ^iy it, 
" I will follow you, my husband !" 

This was Hiawatha's wooing! 
Thus it was he won the daughter 
Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Daeotahs ! 

From the wigwam he departed. 
Leading with him Laughing Water; 
Hand in hand they went together, 
' Throughthe woodland and the meadow, 
Left the old man Standing lonely 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
Heard the falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to them from the distance, 
Crying to them from afar off, 
' Fare thee well, Minnehaha !" 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Turned again unto his labour, 
Sat down by his sunny doorway, 
.Murmuring to himself, and saying: 
i" Thus it is our daughters k a\. 
Those we love, and those who ' 
Just when they have learned to help 118, 
When we are old and lean upon them, 
Gome8 a youth with Haunting fea 
[With his Bute of reeds, a stranger 
'Wanders piping through the village, 
Beckons to the fairest maiden, 
And she follows where he leads her. 
Leaving all things for the stranger !" 

Pleasant was the journey homeward, 
Through interminable forests, 
Over meadow, over mountain, 
'Over river, hill, and hollow. 
phort it seemed to Hiawatha, 
Though they journ 
Though his pace he checked and 

Blackened 
To the steps of Laughing Water. 

Over wide and rushing rivers 



'5' WOOING. 357 

In his arms he bore the maiden ; 
Light he thought her as a feather, 
As the plume upon his head-gear ; 
Cleared the tangled pathway for her, 
Bent aside the swaying branches, 
Made at night a lodge of branches, 
And a bed with boughs of hemlock, 
And a fire before the doorway 
With the dry cones of the pine-tree. 

All the travelling winds went with 

them, 

O'er the meadow, through the forest ; 

All the stars of night looked at them, 

Watched with sleepless eyes their 

slumber ; 
From his ambush in the oak-tree 
Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 

• -yes the lovers ; 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Scampered from the path before them, 
ping from his burrow, 
et upon his haunches, 
Watched with curious eyes the lovers. 

Pleasant wasthe journey homeward ! 
All the birds sang loud and sweetly 
Son.gs of happiness and heart's-ease ; 
Sang the blue-bird, the Ow 

. v are you. Hiawatha, 
Having such a wife to love you !" 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
" Happy arc you, Laughing Water, 
Having such a noble husband !" 

From the sky the sun benignant 
Looked upon them through the 

branches, 
Saying to them, " O my children, 
Love is sunshine, hate is s! 
Life is chequered shade and sunshine, 
Rule by love, O Hiawatha !" 

From the sky the moon looked at 
them, 
Filled the lodge with mystic splendour?, 
Whispered to them, " O my children, 
Day is restless, night is quiet, 



353 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



Man imperious, woman feeble ; 
Half is mine, although I follow ; 
Rule by patience, Laughing Water !" 
Thus it was they journeyed home- 
ward ; 
Thus it was that Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokomis 



Brought the moonlight, starlight, fire- 
light, 
Brought the sunshine of his people, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Handsomest of ail the women 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
In the land of handsome women. 



XI. 



HIAWATHA S WEDDING-FEAST. 



You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
How the handsome Yenadizze 
Danced at Hiawatha's wedding ; 
How the gentle Ghibiabos, 
He the sweetest of musicians, 
Sang his songs of love and longing ; 
How Iagoo, the great boaster, 
He the marvellous story-teller, 
Told his tales of strange adventure, 
That the feast might be more joyous, 
That the time might pass more gaily, 
And the guests be more contented. 

Sumptuous was the feast Nokomis 
Made at Hiawatha's wedding; 
All the bowls were made of bass-wood, 
White and polished very smoothly, 
All the spoons of horn of bison, 
Black and polished very smoothly. 

She had sent through all the village 
Messengers with wands of willow, 
As a sign of invitation, 
As a token of the feasting ; 
And the wedding guests assembled, 
Clad in all their richest raiment, 
Robes of fur and belts of wampum, 
Splendid with their paint and plumage, 
Beautiful with beads and tassels. 

First they ate the sturgeon, Nahma, 
And the pike, the Maskenozha, 
Caught and cooked by old Nokomis; 
Then on pemican they feasted, 
Pemican and buffalo marrow, 



Haunch of deer and hump of bison, 
Yellow cakes of the Mondamin, 
And the wild rice of the river. 

But the gracious Hiawatha, 
And the lovely Laughing Water, 
And the careful old Nokomis, 
Tasted not the food before them, 
Only waited on the others, 
Only served their guests in silence. 

And when all the guests had finished, 
Old Nokomis, brisk and busy, 
From an ample pouch of otter, 
Filled the red stone pipes for smoking 
With tobacco from the South-land, 
Mixed with bark of the red willow, 
And with herbs and leaves of fragrance. 

Then she said, "O Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Dance for us your merry dances, 
Dance the Beggar's Dance to please us, 
That the feast may be more joyous, 
That the time may pass more gaily, 
And our guests be more contented !" 

Then the handsome Pau-Puk- 
Keewis, 
He the idle Yenadizze, 
He the merry mischief-maker, 
Whom the people called the Storm- 
Fool, 
Rose among the guests assembled. 

Skilled was he in sports and pastimes, 
In the merry dance of snow-shoes, 
In the play of quoits and ball-play ; 



HIAWATHA'S 
Skilled was he in games of hazard, 
In all games of skill and hazard, 
Pugasaing, the Bowl and Counters, 
Kuntassoo, the Game of Plum-stones. 
ugh the warriors called him 
I unit-Heart, 
: Galled him coward, Shaugodaya, 
* Idler, gambler, Yenadizze, 
Little heeded he their jesting, 
Little cared he for their insults, 
For the women and the maidens 
Loved the handsome Pau-Puk- K 

He was div: ed ; i; shirt of doe-skin, 
White and soft, and fringed with ermine, 
All inwrought with beads of wampum ; 
d in deer-skin le; 
dwith hedgehog quills and ermine, 
And in moccasins of buck-skin, 
Thick with (mills and beads em- 
broil 
i )n his bead were plumes of 

down, 
On his i 

in one hand a fan of leathers, 
And a pipe was in the other. 

Barred with streaks of red and 
yellow, 
Streaks of blue and ;,ilion, 

•Shone the face of Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

«8, 
{Smooth, and parted like a woman's, 
Shining bright with oil, and plaited, 
'Hung with braids of scented grasses, 
As among the guests assembled, 
To the sound of flutes and singing, 
ITo the sound of drums and w 
dlose the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
And began his mystic dances. 
' First he danced a solemn measure, 

ow in step and gesture, 
|In and out among the pirn- 
(Through the shadows and the sunshine, 
Treading softly like a panther. 
Then more swiftly and still swifter, 



WEDDING-FEA S T. S59 

Whirling, spinning round in circles, 
Leaping o'er the guests assembled, 
Eddying round and round the wigwam, 
Till the leaves went whirling with him, 
Till the dust and wind together 
Swept in eddies round about him. 

Then along the sandy margin 
Of the lake, the Big-Sea- Water, 
On he sped with frenzied gestures. 
Stamped upon the sand, and tossed it 
Wildly in the air around him; 
Till the wind became a whirlwind. 
Till the sand was blown and sifted 

Like great snowdrifts o'er the landscape, 
' all the sh ore s w ith Sand Dunes, 
Sand Hills oi Wudjoo ! 

Thus the merry Pau-Puk-K, 

ince to please 
them, 
And. returning, sat down laughing 
There among the guests assembled, 
Sat and f.mned himself serenely 
With his fan of turkey-feathers. 

Then they said to Chibiabos, 
To the friend of Hiawatha, 
To the sweetest of all singers, 
To the best of all musicians, 
" Sing to us. O Chil 
Songs of love raid songs of longing, 
That the feast may be more joyous, 
That the time may pass more gaily, 
And our guests be more contented !" 

And the gentle Chibiabos 
Sang in accents sweet and tender, 
Sang in tones of deep emotion, 
Songs of love and songs of longing ; 
Looking still at Hiawatha, 
Looking at fair Laughing Water, 
Sang he softly, sang in this wise : 

" On a wa y ! A wake, bel oved ! 
Thou the wild-flower of the forest ! 
Thou the wild-bird of the prairie ! 
Thou with eyes so soft and fawn-like! 

" If thou only lookest at me, 



#5o THE 

I am happy, I am happy, 
As the lilies of the prairie, 
When they feel the dew upon them! 

" Sweet thy breath is as the 
fragrance 
Of the wild-flowers in the morning, 
As their fragrance is at evening, 
In the Moon when leaves are falling. 

"Does not all the blood within me 
Leap to meet thee, leap to meet thee, 
As the springs to meet the sunshine, 
In the Moon when nights are brightest ? 

" Onaway ! my heart sings to thee, 
Sings with joy when thou art near me, 
As the sighing, singing branches 
In the pleasant Moon of Strawberries! 

" When thou art not pleased, beloved, 
Then my heart is sad and darkened, 
As the shining river darkens, 
When the clouds drop shadows on it ! 

"When thou smilest, my beloved, 
Then my troubled heart is brightened, 
As in sunshine gleam the ripples 
That the cold wind makes in rivers. 

" Smiles the earth, and smile the 
waters, 
Smile the cloudless skies above us, 
But I lose the way of smiling 
When thou art no longer near me ! 

" I myself, myself ! behold me ! 
Blood of my beating heart, behold 

me! 
O awake, awake, beloved ! 
Onaway ! awake, beloved !" 

Thus the gentle Chibiabos 
Sang his song of love and longing 
And Iagoo, the great boaster, 
He the marvellous story-teller, 
He the friend of old Nokomis, 
Jealous of the sweet musician, 
Jealous of the applause they gave him, 
Saw in all the eyes around him, 
Saw in all their looks and gestures, 
That the wedding-guests assembled 



SONG OF HIAWATHA, 

Longed to hear his pleasant stories, 



His immeasurable falsehoods. 

Very boastful was Iagoo ; 
Never heard he an adventure 
But himself had met a greater - 
Never any deed of daring 
But himself had done a bolder ; 
Never any marvellous story 
But himself could tell a stranger. 

Would you listen to his boasting, 
Would you only give him credence, 
No one ever shot an arrow 
Half so far and high as he had ; 
Ever caught so many fishes, 
Ever killed so many reindeer, 
Ever trapped so many beaver ! 

None could run so fast as he could, 
None could dive so deep as he could, 
None could swim so far as he could; 
None had made so many journeys, 
None had seen so many wonders, 
As this wonderful Iagoo, 
As this marvellous story-teller ! 

Thus his name became a by-word 
And a jest among the people ; 
And whene'er a boastful hunter 
Praised his own address too highly, 
Or a warrior, home returning, 
Talked too much of his achievements 
All his hearers cried, " Iagoo ! 
Here's Iagoo come among us ! " 

He it was who carved the cradle 
Of the little Hiawatha, 
Carved its framework out of linden, 
Bound it strong with reindeer sinews : 
He it was who taught him later 
How to make his bows and arrows, 
How to make the bows of ash-tree, 
And the arrows of the oak-tree. 
So among the guests assembled 
At my Hiawatha's wedding 
Sat Iagoo, old and ugly, 
Sat the marvellous story-teller. 

And they said, " O good Iagoo, 



THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. 



Tell us now a tale of wonder, 
Tell us of some strange adventure, 
That the feast may be more joyous, 
That the time may pass more | 
And our guests be more contented !" 



361 



And Iagoo answered straightway, 
" You shall hear a tale of wonder, 

ill hear the strange adventures 
Of Osseo, tire Magician, 
From the Evening Siar descended." 



XII. 



the son t of t:ie evening star. 



Can it be the sun descending 
O'er the level plain of v.. 

■ Red Swan floating, flying, 
V. ounded by the magic arrow, 
Staining all the waves with crimson, 
V\ ith the crimson of its life-blood, 
Fillii with splendour, 

.lie splendour of ks plum 
it is the sun descending, 
•Sinking down into the v. .. 
All the sky is stained with pur 
All the water flushed \<> ' 
No ; it is i 1 :ng, 

Diving down beneath the water; 
To the sky its wings are lifted, 
With its blood the waves are red 

Over it the Star of Evening 
Mile; and tr< mbl< throi 
Hang ht. 

No ; it is a bend of wampum 
On the robes of the Great Spirit. 
As he passes through the twilight, 
i in silence through the hi 

This with joy beheld Iagoo. 
And he said in haste: " Behold it ! 
Sec the sacred Star of Eve 
You shall hear a tale of wonder, 
Hear the story of Osseo, 
Son of the Evening Star, Osseo ! 

'• Once, in days no more remembered, 
Ages nearer the beginning, 
Y\ hen the heavens were closer to us, 
And the Gods were more familiar, 
In the North-land lived a hunter, 



With ten young and comely daughters, 
Tall and lithe as wands of willow ; 
Only Oweenee, the young 

She the wilful and the wayward. 
She the silent, dreamy m . 

ie fairest of the sisters. 
"All these women married v. 

d and flouted all her lovers, 
All her young and handsome suitors, 
And then married 
Old Ossco, poor and ugly. 
Broken witii age with 

coughing. 
Always coughing like a squirrel. 

" Ah. but beautiful within him 
Was the spirit of Osseo, 
From the Evening Star descended, 
Star of Evening. Star of Woman, 
Star of tenderness and passion ! 
All its fire was in his bosom, 
All its beauty in his spirit. 
All its mystery in his being, 
All its splendour in his language ! 

" And her lovers, the rejected, 
Handsome men with belts of wampum, 
Handsome men with' paint and fea- 
thers, 
Pointed at her in derision, 
Followed her with jest and laughter. 
Rut she said : • I care not for you, 
Care not for your belts of wampum, 
Care not for your paint and feathers, 



362 THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 



Care not for your jests of laughter ; 
I am happy with Osseo !' 

" Once to some great feast invited, 
Through the damp and dusk of evening, 
Walked together the ten sisters, 
Walked together with their husbands ; 
Slowly followed old Osseo, 
With fair Oweenee beside him ; 
All the others chatted gaily, 
These two only walked in silence. 

" At the western sky Osseo 
Gazed intent, as if imploring, 
Often stopped and gazed imploring 
At the trembling Star of Evening, 
At the tender Star of Woman ; 
And they heard him murmur softly, 
1 Ah, showain nemeshin, Nosa ! 
Pity, pity me, my father !' 

" * Listen !' said the eldest sister, 
' He is praying to his father ! 
What a pity that the old man 
Does not stumble in the pathway, 
Does not break his neck by falling V 
And they laughed till all the forest 
Rang with their unseemly laughter. 

"On their pathway through the 
woodlands 
Lay an oak, by storms uprooted, 
Lay the great trunk of an oak-tree, 
Buried half in leaves and mosses, 
Mouldering, crumbling, huge and 

hollow. 
And Osseo, when he saw it, 
Gave a shout, a cry of anguish, 
Leaped into its yawning cavern, 
At one end went in an old man, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly; 
From the other came a young man, 
Tall and straight and strong and 
handsome. 

" Thus Osseo was transfigured, 
Thus restored to youth and beauty; 
But, alas for good Osseo, 
And for Oweenee, the faithful ! 



Strangely, too, was she transfigured. 
Changed into a weak old woman, 
With a staff she tottered onward, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly ! 
And the sisters and their husbands 
Laughed until the echoing forest 
Rang with their unseemly laughter. 

"But Osseo turned not from her, 
Walked with slower step beside her, 
Took her hand, as brown and withered 
As an oak-leaf is in Winter, 
Called her sweetheart, Nenemoosha, 
Soothed her with soft words of kindness, 
Till they reached the lodge of feasting, 
Till they s:t down in the wigwam, 
Sacred to the Star of Evening, 
To the tender Star of Woman. 

" Wrapt in visions, lost in dreaming, 
At the banquet sat Osseo; 
All were merry, all were happy, 
All were joyous but Osseo. 
Neither food nor drink he tasted, 
Neither did he speak nor listen, 
But as one bewildered sat he, 
Looking dreamily and sadly, 
First at Oweenee, then upward 
At the gleaming sky above them. 

" Then a voice was heard, a whisper, 
Coining from the starry distance, 
Coming from the empty vastness, 
Low, and musical, and tender; 
And the voice said: 'O Osseo ! 
O my son, my best beloved ! 
Broken are the spells that bound you. 
All the charms of the magicians, 
All the magic powers of evil ! 
Come to me; ascend, Osseo! 

' 'Taste the food that stands before 
you : 

It is blessed and enchanted, 
It has magic virtues in it, 
It will change you to a spirit. 
All your bowls and all your kettles 
Shall be wood and clay no longe ; 



THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. 



But the bowls be changed to wampum, 
And the kettles shall be silver ; 
They shall shine like shells of scarlet, 



363 



Was not changed, but sat in silence, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly, 
Looking sadly at the others ; 



Like the lire shall gleam and glimmer. \ Till Usseo, gazing upward, 



And the women shall no longer 
Bear the dreary doom of labour, 
But be changed to birds, and glisten 
With the beauty of the starlight, 
Painted with the dusky splendours 
Of the skies and clouds of evening!' 
" What < ■ ;)crs, 

What as word., he comprehended, 
Was but music to the others, 
Music as of birds afar off, 
Of the whippoorwill afir off, 
Of the lonely \\ aw 1 1] 

Singing in the darksome f 

"Then the lodge began to tremble, 

Straight began to shake and tremble, 
And they fell 
Slowly through the ai 
From tin- darknee 1 of th 

Forth into the dewy starlight, 
Till it passed the topmost branches; 
.And behold! the wooden dishes 
All were changed to shells of scarlet ! 
And behold! the earthen I 1 
All wa to bowls of silver! 

And the re' : am 

■ glittering rods of Silver, 
And the roof of bark upon them 
As the shining shards of beetles. 

'• Then Osseo gazed around him, 
And he saw the nine fair sisters, 
All the sisters and their husbands, 
Changed to birds of various plumage. 
Some were jays and some were magpies. 
Others thrushes, others blackbirds; 
And they hopped, and sang, and twit- 
tered. 
Perked and fluttered all their feathers, 
Strutted in their shining plumage. 
And their tails like ians unfolded* 

" Only Oweenee, the youngest, 



Gave another cry of anguish, 

Such a cry as he had utt 
' By the oak-tree in the forest. 

" Then returned her youth and beauty, 

And her soiled and tattered garments 
I Were transformed to robes of ermine, 
1 And her staff became a feather, 

" And again the wigwam trembled, 
Swayed and rushed through airy 

cun 
Through transparent cloud and vapour, 
And amid celestial splendours 
( )n the Evening St 

Bow-flake falls on snow-flake, 
As a leaf drops on a river, 
- 
•• Forth with cheerful words of wel- 
come 
Came the father of ( I 
I le with radiant locks of silver, 
He with eyes serene and tender. 
And he Bald: ' My son. Osseo, 
I Iang the cage of birds you bring there, 

h rods of si! 
And the birds with glistening feathers, 
At the doorway of my wigwam.' 

•' At the door he hung the bird-cage, 
And they entered in and gladly 
Li tened to Osseo's father, 
Ruler of the Star of Evening, 
As he said: ' O my Osseo ! 
I have had compassion on you. 
Given you back your youth and I 
Into birds of various plui 

d yoursistersand their husbands ; 
Changed them thus because they 

mocked you 
In the figure of the old man, 
In that aspect sad and wrinkled, 



3^4 

Could not see your heart of passion, 

Could not see your youth immortal ; 

Only Oweenee, the faithful, 

Saw your naked heart and loved you, 

" ' In the lodge that glimmers yonder 
In the little star that twinkles 
Through the vapours, on the left hand, 
Lives the envious Evil Spirit, 
The Wabeno, the magician, 
Who transformed you to an old man. 
Take heed lest his beams fall on you, 
For the rays he darts around him 
Are the power of his enchantment, 
Are the arrows that he uses.' 

" Many years, in peace and quiet, 
On the peaceful Star of Evening 
Dwelt Osseo with his father ; 
Many years, in song and flutter, 
At the doorway of the wigwam, 
Hung the cage with rods of silver, 
And fair Oweenee, the faithful, 
Bore a son unto Osseo, 
With the beauty of his mother, 
With the courage of his father. 

"And the boy grew up and prospered, 
And Osseo, to delight him, 
Made him little bows and arrows, 
Opened the great cage of silver, 
And let loose his aunts and uncles, 
All those birds with glossy feathers, 
For his little son to shoot at. 

" Round and round they wheeled 
and darted, 
Filled the Evening Star with music, 
With their songs of joy and freedom ; 
Filled the Evening Star with splendour, 
"With the fluttering of their- plumage ; 
Till the boy, the little hunter, 
Bent his bow and shot an arrow, 
Shot a swift and fatal arrow, 
And a bird, with shining feathers, 
At his feet fell wounded sorely. 

" But, O wondrous transformation ! 
'Twas no bird he saw before him, 



THE SONG OF HIAV/ATHA. 



Twas a beautiful young woman, 
With the arrow in her bosom ! 

" When her blood fell on the planet, 
On the Sacred Star of Evening, 
Broken was the spell of magic, 
Powerless was the strange enchantment, 
And the youth, the fearless bowman, 
Suddenly felt himself descending, 
Held by unseen hands, but sinking 
Downward through the empty spaces, 
Downward through the clouds and 

vapours, 
Till he rested on an island, 
On an island, green and grassy, 
Yonder in the Big-Sea- Water. 

" After him he saw descending 
All the birds with shining feathers, 
Fluttering, falling, wafted downward, 
Like the painted leaves of Autumn ; 
And the lodge with poles of silver, 
With its roof like wings of beetles, 
Like the shining shards of beetles, 
By the winds of heaven uplifted, 
Slowly sank upon the island, 
Bringing back the good Osseo, 
Bringing Oweenee, the faithful. 

" Then the birds, again transfigured, 
Reassumed the shape of mortals, 
Took their shape, but not their stature ; 
They remained as Little People, 
Like the pigmies, the Puk-Wudjies, 
And on pleasant nights of Summer, 
When the Evening Star was shining, 
Hand in hand they danced together 
On the island's craggy headlands, 
On the sand-beach low and level. 

" Still their glittering lodge is seen 
there, 
On the tranquil Summer evenings, 
And upon the shore the fisher 
Sometimes hears their happy voices, 
Sees them dancing in the starlight !" 

When the story was completed, 
When the wondrous tale was ended. 



BLESSING THE 
Looking round upon his listeners, 
Solemnly Iagoo added : 
" There are great men, I have known 

such, 
\\ bom their people understand not, 
Whom they even make a j 
Scoff and jeer at in derision. 
From the story of Osseo 
Let us learn the fate of jesters!" 

All the wedding guests delighted 
Listened to the marvellous story, 
Listened laughing and applauding, 
And they whispered to each other 
" Does he mean himself, I wonder ? 
And are we the aunts and uncles ?" 

Then again sang Chibi 
Sang a song of love and longing. 
In those accents sweet and (end 
In those tones of pensive sad 
Sang a maiden's lamentation 
\ For her lover, her Algonquin, 

" When I think of my beloved, 
Ah me ! think of my beloved, 
W hen my heart i^ thinking of him, 
my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" Ah me ! when I parted from him, 
Round my neck he hung the wampum, 
Asa pledge, the snow-white wampum, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 



CORN-FIELDS. tfS 

" I will go with you, he whispered, 
Ah me! to your native country; 
Let me go with you, he whispered, 
() my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 
away, I answered, 
Very far away, I answered, 
Ah me! is my native country, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 
" When I looked back to behold 
him, 
Where we parted, to behold him, 
After me he still was gazing, 
O my Sweetheart, my Algonquin! 

'• By the tree he still was standing, 
By the fallen tree was standing. 
That had dropped into the water, 
my sweetheart, my Algonquin! 
" When I think of my beloved, 
Ah me! think of my beloved, 
W hen my heart is thinking of him, 
my sweetheart, my Algonquin!" 
I b was Hiawatha's V\ edding, 
Such the dance of Pau-Puk-Ki • 
Such the story of Iagoo, 
Such the songs of Chibiabos; 
Thus the wedding banquet ended, 
Anil the- wedding guests departed, 
Leaving Hiawatha happy 
With the night and Minn 



XIII. 



BLESSING THE CORN-FIELDS. 



SlNG, O Song of Hiawatha, 

Oi "the happy days that followed, 

In the land of the Ojibways, 

In the pleasant land and peaceful! 

Sing the mysteries of Mondamin, 

Sing the Blessing of the Corn-fields ! 

Buried was the bloody hatchet. 
Buried was the dreadful war-club, 
Buried were all war-like weapons, 
And the war-cry was forgotten. 



There was peace among the nations ; 
Unmolested roved the hunter,. 
Built the birch canoe for sailing, 
Caught the fish in lake and river, 
Shot the deer and trapped the beaver; 
Unmolested worked the women, 
.Made their sugar from the maple, 
Gathered wild rice in the meadows, 
Dressed the skins of deer and beaver. 
All around the happy village 



366 
Stood 



tne 



THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 
maize-fields, green and I Nor the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena, 



shining, 

Waved the green plumes of Mondamin, 
Waved his soft and sunny tresses, 
Filling all the land with plenty. 
'Twas the women who in Spring-time 
Planted the broad fields and fruitful, 
Buried in the earth Mondamin ; 
'Twas the women who in Autumn 
Stripped the yellow husks of harvest, 
Stripped the garments from Mondamin, 
Even as Hiawatha taught them. 

O nee, when all the maize was planted, 
Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful, 
Spake and said to Minnehaha, 
To his wife, the Laughing Water : 
"You shall bless to-night the corn- 
fields; 
Draw a magic circle round them, 
To protect them from destruction, 
Blast of mildew, blight of insect, 
Wagemin, the thief of corn-fields, . 
Pairnosaid, who steals the maize-ear ! 

" In the night, when all is silence, 
In the night, when all is darkness, 
When the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, 
Shuts the doors of all the wigwams, 
So that not an ear can hear you, 
So that not an eye can see you, 
Rise up from your bed in silence, 
Lay aside your garments wholly, 
Walk around the fields you planted, 
Round the borders of the corn-fields, 
Covered by your tresses only, 
Robed with darkness as a garment. 

"Thus the fields shall be more 
fruitful, 
And the passing of your footsteps 
Draw a magic circle round them, 
So that neither blight nor mildew, 
Neither burrowing worm nor insect, 
Shall pass o'er the magic circle; 
Not the dragon-fly, Kwo-ne-she, 
Nor the spider, Subbekashe, 



Nor the mighty caterpillar, 
Way-muk-kwana, with the bear-skin, 
King of all the caterpillars !" 

On the tree-tops near the corn-fields 
Sat the hungry crows and ravens, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
With his band of black marauders, 
And they laughed at Hiawatha, 
Till the tree-tops shook with laughter, 
With their melancholy laughter 
At the words of Hiawatha. 
"Hear him!" said they; "hear the 

Wise Man ! 
Hear the plots of Hiawatha !" 

When the noiseless night descended 
Broad and dark o'er field and forest, 
When the mournful Wawonaissa, 
Sorrowing sang among the hemlocks, 
And the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, 
Shut the doors of all the wigwams, 
From her bed rose Laughing Water, 
Laid aside her garments wholly, 
And with darkness clothed and guarded, 
Unashamed and unafrrighted, 
Walked securely round the corn-fields. 
Drew the sacred, magic circle 
Of her footprints round the com-fields. 

No one but the Midnight only 
Saw her beauty in the darkness, 
No one but the Wawonaissa 
Heard the panting of her bosom ; 
Guskewau, the darkness, wrapped her 
Closely in his sacred mantle, 
So that none might see her beauty, 
So that none might boast, " I saw her !" 

On the morrow, as the day dawned, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
Gathered all his black marauders, 
Crows and blackbirds, jays and ravens, 
Clamorous on the dusky tree-tops, 
And descended, fast and fearless, 
On the fields of Hiawatha, 
On the grave of the Mondamin. 



BLESSING THE 
" We will drag Mondamin," said 
they, 
" From the grave where he is buried, 
Spite of all the magic circles 
Laughing Water draws around it, 
Spite of all the sacred footprints 
Minnehaha stamps upon it !" 

But the wary Hiawatha 
Ever thoughtful, careful, watchful, 
Had o'erheard the scornful laughter 
When they mocked him from the tree- 
tops. 
"Kaw!" he said, "my friends the ra- 
vens ! 
Kahgahgee, my King of Ravens ! 
1 will teach you all a le 

ill not be soon forgotten !" 
He had risen before tl 
He had spread o'er all the corn-fields 

to catch the black mir.. 
And was King now in ambush 
In the ■ 

Waiting for the CXDW8 ami blackbirds, 
for the jays and I 
Soon they came with caw and cla- 

wings and cry of \ 
To their work of devastation, 
Settling down upon the corn-fields, 

Delving deep with beak and talon, 
For the body of Mondamin. 
And with all their craft and cunning, 
All their skill in wiles ofwa 

ercdved no danger near them, 
Till their claws became entangled, 
'Till they found themselves imprisoned 
i In the snares of Hiawatha. 

From his place of ambush came he, 
'Striding terrible among them, 
\nd so awful was his aspect 
That the bravest quailed with terror. 
Without mercy he destroyed them 
.Right and left, by tens and twenties, 
And their wretched, lifeless boc 



CORN-FTELDS. 367 

Hung aloft on poles for scarecrows 
Round the consecrated corn-fields, 
As a signal of his vengeance, 
As a warning to marauders. 

Only Kahgahgee, the leader, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
He alone was spared among them 

hostage for his people. 
With his prist bounel him, 

Led him captive to his wigwam, 
Tied him fast with cords of elm-bark 
To the ridge-pole of his wigwam. 

" Kal Id he, 

" You the leader of the rol 
You the plotter of this mischief, 
The contriver of this out 
I will kevp you. 1 w HI hol< 

As a hostage for your people, 

As a pit d 

And he left him, grim and sulky, 
Sitting in the mornil 
On the summit of the wigwam, 
Croakii . .'.sure, 

Flappin ible pinions, 

Vainly struggling for his freedom, 
Vainly calli' le ! 

Summer passed, and Shawondasse 
Breathed his sighs o'er all the landscape, 
Prom the South-land sent Iks ard 
Wafted ki.-ses warm and tender; 
And the maize-field grew and ri] 
Till it stood in all the splendour 
Of its garments green and yellow, 
Of its tassels and its plumage, 
And the maize-cars full and shii 
Gleamed from bursting she. I 
verdure. 

Then Nokomis, the old woman, 
Spake, and said to Minnehaha: 
" 'Tis the Moon when leaves are falling ; 
All the wild-rice has been gathered, 
And the maize is ripe and ready; 
Let us gather in the harvest, 
Let us wrestle with Mondamin 



368 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



Strip him of his plumes and tassels, 
Of his garments green and yellow!" 

And the merry Laughing Water 
Went rejoicing from the wigwam, 
With Nokomis, old and wrinkled, 
And they called the women round them, 
Called the young men and the maidens, 
To the harvest of the corn-fields, 
To the husking of the maize-ear. 

On the border of the forest, 
Underneath the fragrant pine-trees, 
Sat the old men and the warriors 
Smoking in the pleasant shadow. 
In uninterrupted silence 
Looked they at the gamesome labour 
Of the young men and the women; 
Listened to their noisy talking, 
To their laughter and their singing, 
Heard them chattering like the magpies, 
Heard them laughing like the blue-jays, 
Heard them singing like the robins. 

And whene'er some lucky maiden 
Found a red ear in the husking, 
Found a maize-ear red as blood is, 
" Nushka !" cried they all together, 



" Nushka ! you shall have a sweetheart, 
You shall have a handsome husband !" 
" Ugh ! " the old men all responded, 
From their seats beneath the pine-trees. 

And whene'er a youth or maiden 
Found a crooked ear in husking, 
Found a maize-ear in the husking, 
Blighted, mildewed, or misshappen, 
Then they laughed and sang together, 
Crept and limped about the corn-fields, 
Micmicked in their gait and gestures 
Some old man, bent almost double, 
Singing singly or together : 
" Wagemin, the thief of corn-fields ! 
Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear !" 
Till the corn-fields rang with 
laughter, 
Till from Hiawatha's wigwam 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
Screamed and quivered in his anger, 
And from all the neighbouring tree-tops 
Cawed and croaked the black marau- 
ders. 
"Ugh !" the old men all responded, 
From their seats beneath the pine-trees ! 



XIV. 



PICTURE-WRITING. 



• 



In those days said Hiawatha, 

" Lo ! how all things fade and perish ! 

From the memory of the old men 

Pass away the great traditions, 

The achievements of the warriors, 

The adventures of the hunters, 

All the wisdom of the Medas, 

All the craft of the Wabenos, 

All the marvellous dreams and visions 

Of the Jossakeeds, the Prophets ! 

" Great men die and are forgotten, 
Wise men speak ; their words of wisdom 
Perish in the ears that hear them, 
Do not reach the generations 



That, as yet unborn, are waiting 
In the great, mysterious darkness 
Of the speechless days that shall be ! 

"On the grave-posts of our fathers 
Are no signs, no figures painted ; 
Who are in those graves we know not, 
Only know they are our fathers. 
Of what kith they are and kindred, 
From what old, ancestral Totem, 
Be it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver, 
They descended, this we know not, 
Only know they are our fathers. 

" Face to face we speak together, 
But we cannot speak when absent, 



PICTURE- 
Cannot send our voices from us 
To the friends that dwell afar - 
Cannot send a secret me 
But the bearer learns our 
May pervert it, may beta 
May reveal it unto others." 

Thus said Hiawatha, walking 
In the solitary forest, 
Pondering, musing in the f 
On the welfare of his people. 

From his pouch he took his colours, 
Took his paints of different colours, 
On the smooth bark of a birch-tree 
punted many shapes and figures, 
Wonderful and mystic figures, 
And each figure had a meaning, 
Each some word or thou j '.; uggested. 

Gitche Manito th 
lie, the Master of Life, was painted 
As an c^'. with poii I 
To the four wind i 
Everywhere is the Great v 

Mitche Manito the Might)', 
He the dreadful Spirit of 
As a serpent was depicted. 
As Kenabcek, the great serpent. 
^ery crafty, very cunning, 
'.s the creeping Spirit of I 
IVas the meaning of this symbol. 

Life and Death he dn . 
Jie was white, but Death was dark- 
ened ; 

nd moon and stars he painted, 

id beast, and fish and reptile, 

t , mountains, lakes, and rivers. 

i or the earth he drew a straight line, 

tor the sky a bow above it ; 

^ liite the space between for 

time, 
'Died with little stars for night-time ; 
Hi the left a point for sunrise, 
n the right a point for sunset, 
>n the Lop a point for noon-tide, 



WHITING. 3 6 9 

And for rain and cloudy weather 
lines descending from it. 

Footprints pointing towards a wig- 
wam 

f invitation, 
Were a sign of guests assembling ; 
Bloody hands with palms uplifted 
Were a symbol of destruction, 
Were a hostile sign and symbol. 

All these things did Hiawatha \ 

Show unto his wondering people, 
And interpreted their meaning, • '• 

And he said : " Behold, your grave-posts 
Have no mark, no sign, nor symbol. 
Go and paint them all with figures; 
Each one with its hou ehold symbol, 
With its own ancestral Tot 
So that those who follow after 
h them and know:' 

And they painted on the grave-] 

: .forgotten. 
Own ancestral Totem, 
mbol of his household; 

IT and Reindeer, 
Of the .::e, and Be.:. 

Each i::\« rted as a token 

.■ owner was departed, 
That the chief who bore the symbol 
Lay beneath in dust and ashes. 

' the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, 
The Wabenos, the Magicians, 
And the Medicine-men, the Medas, 
Painted upon bark and deer-skin 
Figures for the songs they chanted, 
For each song a separate symbol, 
Figures mystical and awful, 
Figures strange and brightly coloured: 
And each figure had its meaning. 
Each some magic song suggested. 
The Great Spirit, the Creator, 
Flashing light through all the heaven ; 
The Great Serpent, the Kcnabccl:, 
With his bloody crest erected, 
ing, looking into heaven; 



37° 

In the sky the sun, that listens, 
And the moon eclipsed and dying ; 
Owl and eagle, crane and hen-hawk, 
And the cormorant, bird of magic ; 
Headless men, that walk the heavens, 
Bodies lying pierced with arrows, 
Bloody hands of death uplifted, 
Flags on graves, and great war-captains 
Grasping both the earth and heaven ! 

Such as these the shapes they painted 
On the birch-bark and the deer-skin ; 
Songs of war, and songs of hunting, 
Songs of medicine and of magic, 
All were written in these figures, 
For each figure had its meaning, 
Each its separate song recorded. 

Nor forgotten was the Love-Song, 
The most subtle of all medicines, 
The most potent spell of magic, 
Dangerous more than war or hunting ! 
Thus the Love-Song was recorded, 
Symbol and interpretation. 

First a human figure standing, 
Painted. in the brightest scarlet; 
'Tis the lover, the musician, 
And the meaning is, " My painting 
Makes me powerful over others." 
Then the figure seated, singing, 
Playing on a drum of magic, 
And the interpretation, " Listen ! 
'Tis my voice you hear, my singing f 

Then the same red figure seated 
In the shelter of a wigwam, 
And the meaning of the symbol, 
" I will come and sit beside you 
In the mystery of my passion !" 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Then two figures, man and woman, 



Standing hand in hand together, 
With their hands so clasped togeth 
That they seem in one united, 
And the words thus represented 
Are, " I see your heart within you, 
And your cheeks are red with blushes i" 

Next the maiden on an island 
In the centre of an island ; 
And the song this shape suggested ^ 
Was, "Though you were at a dis- 
tance, 
Were upon some far-off island, 
Such the spell I cast upon you, 
Such the magic power of passion, 
I could straightway draw you to me !' 

Then the figure of the maiden 
Sleeping, and the lover near her, 
Whispering to her in her slumbers, 
Saying, "Though you were far from m« 
In the land of Sleep and Silence, 
Still the voice of love would reac? 
you!" 
And the last of all the figures 
Was a heart within a circle, 
Drawn within a magic circle ; 
And the image had this meaning : 
" Naked lies your heart before me, 
To your naked heart I whisper !" 

Thus it was that Hiawatha, 
In his wisdom, taught the people 
All the mysteries of painting, 
All the art of Picture- Writing, 
On the smooth bark of the birch-tre 
On the white skin of the rein-deer, 
On the grave-posts of the village. 






XV. 

HIAWATHA'S LAMENTATION. 



In those days the Evil Spirits, 
All the Manitos of mischief, 
Fearing Hiawatha's wisdom, 



And his love for Chibiabos, 
Jealous of their faithful friei] 
And their noble words and actions, 



HI A WA THA'S LAMENT A TION. 



Made at length a league against them, 
To molest them and destroy them. 

Hiawatha, wise and wary, 
Often said to Chibiabos, 
" my brother ! do not leave me, 
Lest the Evil Spirits harm you !" 
Chibiabos, young a 

I Laughing shook his coal-black tresses, 
Answered ever sweet and childlike, 
" Do not fear for me, O brother ! 
Harm and evil come not near me!" 

Once when Peboan, the Winter, 
Roofed with ice the Big-Sea- \\ ater. 
When the snow-Hakes, whirling down- 
wart!, 

! li - ed among the withered oak- 
Changed the pine-trees intowij 

th with silence, — 
Armed with arrows, shod with 

shoes, 
Heeding not his brother's warning, 
hearing not the Evil Spirits, 
(Forth to hunt the deer with ant 
All alone went Chibi 

Right across the Big-Sea- WaU r 
Sprang with speed the deer before him. 
A\ itli the wind and snow he followed. 
O'er the treacherous ice lie folk 
'Wild with all the fierce commotion 
And the rapture of the hunting. 

But beneath, the Kvil Sj 
Lay in ambush, waiting for him. 
Broke the treacherous ice beneath him, 
pragged him downward to the bottom. 
■auied in the sand his body. 
pnktahee, the god of . 
He the god of the Dacot 
Prowned him in the deep abysses 
Of the kike of Gitchi I 
I From the headlands Hiawatha 
pent forth such a wail of anguish, 
Such a fearful lamentation, 
(That the bison paused to listen, 
^ nd the wolves howled from the prairie s. 



371 



And the thunder in the distance 
Starting answered, " Bahn-Wawa f* 

Then his face with blac] 
With 

In his 1 lamenting, 

Seven long weeks he sat lame-;: 

r still this moan of sorrow: — 
" He is dead, th 
He the sweetest of all sir. 
gone from us for 
He has moved a little neai 
To the Master of all mi, 
To the Mastei of all sin. 
O my brother, Chibi;. 

And the melancholy fir- 
Wavedtheird 1 above him, 

I their purpll • him, 

with him to console him. 
Mingling with his lamentation 

their lamenting. 
( . . and all the 

d in vain for ( 
Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha, 
Sighed t! 

ps tang the blue- 
bird. 
Sang the blue-bird, the 0\. 
•• Chibiabos! Chibiabos! 
He is dead, the sweet musician !" 

im sang the robin, 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
" Chibiabos! Chibiabos! 
He is dead, the sweetest singer!" 

And at night through all the forest 
Went the whippoorwill complainings 

went the Wawonaissa, 
"Chibiabos! Chibiabos! 
He is dead, the sweet musician ! 
He the sweetest of all singers!" 

Then the medicine-men, the Medas, 
The magicians, the Wabenos, 
And the Jossakceds, the prophets, 
Came to visit Hiawatha; 
Built a Sacred Lodge beside him, 



37* 



THE SONQ OF HIAWATHA. 



To appease him, to console him, 
Walked in silent, grave procession, 
Bearing each a pouch of healing, 
Skin of beaver, lynx, or otter, 
Filled with magic roots and simples, 
Filled with very potent medicines. 

When he heard their steps ap- 
proaching, 
Hiawatha ceased lamenting, 
Called no more on Chibiabos; 
Naught he questioned, naught he 

answered, 
But his mournful head uncovered, 
From his face the mourning colours 
Washed he slowly and in silence, 
Slowly and in silence followed 
Onward to the Sacred Wigwam. 

There a magic drink they gave him, 
Made of Nahma-wusk, the spearmint, 
And Wabeno-wusk, the yarrow, 
Roots of power, and herbs of healing ; 
Beat their drums, and shook their rattles; 
Chanted singly and in chorus, 
Mystic songs like these, they chanted : 

" I myself, myself! behold me! 
'Tis the great Gray Eagle talking ; 
Come, ye white crows, come and hear 

him! 
The loud-speaking thunder helps me; 
All the unseen spirits help me ; 
I can hear their voices calling, 
All around the sky I hear them ! 
I can blow you strong, my brother, 
I can heal you, Hiawatha!" 

" Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus, 
" Way-ha-way !" the mystic chorus. 

" Friends of mine are all the serpents ! 
Hear me shake my skin of hen-hawk ! 
Mahng, the white loon, I can kill him ; 
I can shoot your heart and kill it! 
I can blow you strong, my brother, 
I can heal you, Hiawatha!" 

"Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus, 
* Way-ha-way !" the mystic chorus. 



" I myself, myself! the prophet! 
When I speak the wigwam trembles, 
Shakes the Sacred Lodge with terror, 
Hands unseen begin to shake it ! 
When I walk, the sky I tread on 
Bends and makes a noise beneath me ' 
I can blow you strong, my brother ! 
Rise and speak, O Hiawatha!" 

"Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus, 
" Way-ha-way!" the mystic chorus. 

Then they shook their medicine- 
pouches 
O'er the head of Hiawatha, 
Danced their medicine-dance aroum 

him; 
And upstarting wild and haggard, 
Like a man from dreams awakened 
He was healed of all his madness. 
As the clouds are swept from heaven 
Straightway from his brain departed 
All his moody melancholy ; 
As the ice is swept from rivers, 
Straightway from his heart departed 
All his sorrow and affliction. 

Then they summoned Chibiabos 
From his grave beneath the waters, 
From the sands of Gitche Gumee 
Summoned Hiawatha's brother. 
And so mighty was the magic 
Of that cry and invocation, 
That he heard it as he lay there 
Underneath the Big-Sea- Water ; 
From the sand he rose and listened, ' 
Heard the music and the singing, 
Came, obedient to the summons, 
To the doorway of the wigwam, 
But to enter they forbade him. 

Through a chink a coal they gave hir 
Through the door a burning hre-branc 
Ruler in the Land of Spirits, 
Ruler o'er the dead, they made i:':n. 
Telling him a fire to kindle 
For all those that died thereafter, 
Camp-fires for their night encampmen 



PA U-PUK-KEE WIS. 



On their solitary journey 
To the kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the land of the Hereafter. 

From the village of his childhood, 
(From the homes of those who knew him, 
Passing silent through the forest, 
Like a smoke-wreath wafted sideways, 
Slowly vanished Chibiabos! 
jlVhere he passed, the branches moved 

not; 

Where he trod, the grasses bent not, 
And the fallen leaves of last year 
Made no sound beneath his footsteps. 
Four whole days he journeyed 
onward 

Down the pathway of the dead men; 
:>n the dead man's strawberry feasted, 

1 the melancholy river, 
>n the swinging log he cro ed it, 

1 . • of Silver, 
the >t 
to the Islands of tl I 
To the land of ghosts and shadows. 



373 



On that journey, moving slowly, 
Many weary spirits saw he, 
Panting under heavy burdens, 
Laden with war-clubs, bows and arrows, 
Robes of fur, and pots and kettles, 
And with food that friends had given 
For that solitary journey. 

" Ah ! why do the living," said they, 
" Lay such heavy burdens on us ! 
Better were it to go naked, 
Better were it to go fasting, 
Than to bear such heavy burdens 
On our long and weary journey!" 

Forth then issued Hiawatha, 
Wandered eastward, wandered west- 
ward, 
Teaching men the use of simples 
And the antidotes for poisons, 
And the cure of all d 
' made known to mortals 

All the mystery of Medamin, 
All the sacred art of healing. 



XVI. 



PAU-PUK-KEEW1S, 



l OU shall hear how Pau-Puk-Kcewis, 
ie, the handsome Yenadi. 
A horn the people called theStorm-Fool, 
[exed the village with disturbance; 
lou shall hear of all his mischief, 
\nd his flight from Hiawatha, 
Ind his wondrous transmigrations, 
jlnd the end of his adventures. 

On the shores of Gitche Gumec, 
In the dunes of Kagow Wudjoo, 
fly the shining Big-Sea- Water 
tood the lodge of Pau-Puk-Kcewis. 
t was he who in his frenzy 
^ hiried these drifting sands together, 
,£n the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo, 
I hen, among the guests assembled, ■ 



He so merrily and madly 
Danced at Hiawatha's wedding, 
Danced the Beggar's Dance to please 
them. 

Now, in search of new adventures. 
From his lodge went Pau-Puk-Kcewis, 
Came with speed into the village. 
Found the young men all assembled 
In the lodge of old Iagoo, 
Listening to his monstrous stories, 
To his wonderful adventures. 

He was telling them the story 
Of Ojeeg, the Summer- Maker, 
How he made a hole in heaven, 
How he climbed up into heaven, 
And let out the Summer- weather, 



374 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



The perpetual, pleasant Summer ; 
How the Otter first essayed it ; 
How the Beaver, Lynx, and Badger 
Tried in turn the great achievement, 
From the summit of the mountain 
Smote their fists against the heavens, 
Smote against the sky their foreheads, 
Cracked the sky, but could not break it ; 
How the Wolverine, uprising, 
Made him ready for the encounter, 
Bent his knees down, like a squirrel, 
Drew his arms back, like a cricket. 

" Once he leaped," said old Iagoo, 
"Once he leaped, and lo! above him 
Bent the sky, as ice in rivers 
When the waters rise beneath it ; 
Twice he leaped, and lo ! above him 
Cracked the sky, as ice in river3 
When the freshet is at highest ! 
Thrice he leaped, and lo! above him 
Broke the shattered sky asunder, 
And he disappeared within it, 
And Ojeeg, the Fisher Weasel, 
With a bound went in behind him !" 

" Hark you !" shouted Pau-Puk- 
Keewis 
As he entered at the doorway ; 
" I am tired of all this talking, 
Tired of old lagoo's stories, 
Tired of Hiawatha's wisdom. 
Here is something to amuse you, 
Better than this endless talking." 

Then from out his pouch of wolf- skin 
Forth he drew, with solemn manner, 
All the game of Bowl and Counters, 
Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces. 
White on one side were they painted, 
And vermilion on the other ; 
Two Kenabeeks or great serpents, 
Two Ininewug or wedge-men, 
One great war-club, Pugamaugun, 
And one slender fish, the Keego, 
Four round pieces, Ozawabeeks, 
And three Sheshebwug or ducklings. 



All were made of bone and painted, 
All except the Ozawabeeks; 
These were brass on one side burnishec 
And were black upon the other. 

In a wooden bowl he placed them. 
Shook and jostled them together, 
Threw them on the ground before hin. 
Thus exclaiming and explaining : 
" Red side up are all the pieces, 
And one great Kenabeek standing 
On the bright side of a brass piece, 
On a burnished Ozawabeek; 
Thirteen tens and eight are counted. 

Then again he shook the pieces, 
Shook and jostled them together, 
Threw them on the ground before hir 
Still exclaiming and explaining : 
" White are both the great Kenabeek 
White the Ininewug, the wedge-mei 
Red are all the other pieces ; 
Five tens and an eight are counted; 

Thus he taught the game of hazan 
Thus displayed it and explained it, 
Running through its various chances 
Various changes, various meanings : 
Twenty curious eyes stared at him, ," ; 
Full of eagerness stared at him. 

" Many games," said old Iagoo, 
" Many games of skill and hazard 
Have I seen in different nations, 
Have I played in different coun 
He who plays with old Iagoo 
Must have very nimble fingers ; 
Though you think yourself so skilfu 
I can beat you, Pau-Puk-Keewis 3 
I can even give you lessons 
In your game of Bowl and Counters 

So they sat and played together, 
All the old men and the young men 
Played for dresses, weapons, wampui 
Played till midnight, played till momin 
Played until the Yenadizze, 
Till the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Of their treasures had despoiled ther 






PAU-PUK. 

Pf the best of all their dresses, 
ftiirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine, 
>f wampum, crests of feathers, 
Warlike weapons, pipes and pouches* 
twenty eyes glared wildly at him, 
.ike the eyes of wolves glared at him. 

Said the lucky Pau-Puk-Keewh : 
| In my wigwam I am lonely, 
|i) my wandering and adventures 

need of a companion, 
lam would have a Meshinauwa, 

ndant and pipe-bearer. 
'will venture all thes 
\\\ these garments heaped about me, 
Ml this wampum, .. 
Dn a Bingle throw will venture 

mg man you,' 
1 ixteen summi 

I nephew of J 

i-a-Mist,the , 1 him. 

the fire burns in a pipe-!.. 
red beneath the a 
\f beneath hi rows 

[lowed the e; of old i 

!" lie answered very fiercely; 
|Jgh!" they answered all and each one. 
Seized the wooden bowl the old man, 

-hitched the fatal bowl. Onagon, 
hook it fiercely and with fury, 
lade the pieces ring together 

threw them down before him. 
Red were both the great Kenabeeks, 
die wedge-men, 
• Sheshcbwug, the ducklings, 
lack the four brass Ozawabeeks, 
White alone the fish, the K< 
pily five the pieces counted ! 

Then the smiling Pau-Puk-Keewis 
hook the bowl and threw the pieces j 
Rightly in the air he tossed them, 
! |nd they fell about him scattered ; 
lark and bright the Ozawabeeks, 
fcd and white the other pieces, 



-KEEWIS. 3 jf 

And upright among the others ' 
One Ininewug was stand 

crafty Pau-Puk-X 
Stood alone among the players, 
Saying, « Five tens ! mine the game is !" 
Twenty eyes glared at him fiercely, 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at him, 

turned and left the wigwam, 
Followed by his M-shinauwa, 
By the nephew Of I 
By the tall and graceful stripling, 
Hearing in his arms the win 
Shirts of deer-; kin, robes of ermine, 
Belts of wampum, pipes, and weapons. 
rry them," said Pau- 
Keewis, 
Pointing with his fan of feathers, 

warn far to 
On the dunes |»» 

Hot and red wil- 
ling 
Were the eyes of Pau-Puk-Keewis 

forth to the freslr 
Of the ummer momii 

All the birds were gj 
All the streamlets Rowing swiftly, 
And the heart of Pau-Puk-K 
Sang with pi B J I1 g j 

Beat with triumph like the streamlets, 
As he wandered through the vi; 
In the earl;,- grey of morning, 
With Ins fan of turkey-feathers, 
With his plumes and tufts of swan's 

down, 
Till he reached the farthest wigwam, 
Reached the lodge of Hiawatha. 

Silent was it and deserted ; 
No one met him at the doorway, 
No one came to bid him welcome ; 
But the birds were singing round it, 
In and out and round the doorway, 
Hopping, singing, fluttering, feeding,- 
And aloft upon the ridge-pole 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 



3/6 



THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 



Sat with fiery eyes, and, screaming, 
Flapped his wings at Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

"All are gone! the lodge is empty !" 
Thus it was spake Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
In his heart resolving mischief; 
" Gone is wary Hiawatha, 
Gone the silly Laughing Water, 
Gone Nokomis, the old woman, 
And the lodge is left unguarded !" 

By the neck he seized the raven, 
Whirled it round him like a rattle, 
Like a medicine-pouch he shook it, 
Strangled Kahgahgee, the raven, 
From the ridge-pole of the wigwam 
Left its lifeless body hanging, 
As an insult to its master, 
As a taunt to Hiawatha. 

With a stealthy step he entered, 
Round the lodge in wild disorder 
Threw the household things about him, 
Piled together in confusion 
Bowls of wood and earthen kettles, 
Robes of buffalo and beaver, 
Skins of otter, lynx, and ermine, 
As an insult to Nokomis, 
As a taunt to Minnehaha. 

Then departed Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Whistling, singing through the forest, 
Whistling gaily to the squirrels, 
Who from hollow boughs above him 



Dropped their acorn-shells upon him, 
Singing gaily to the wood-birds, 
Who from out the leafy darkness 
Answered with a song as merry. 

Then he climbed the rocky head- 

< lands, 
Looking o'er the Gitche Gumee, 
Perched himself upon their summit. 
Waiting full of mirth and mischief 
The return of Hiawatha. 

Stretched upon his back he lay there- * 
Far below him plashed the waters, 
Plashed and washed the dreamy waters; 
Far above him swam the heavens, 
Swam the dizzy, dreamy heavens ; 
Round him hovered, fluttered, rustled 
Hiawatha's mountain chickens, 
Flock-wise swept and wheeled about 

him, 
Almost brushed him with their pinions. 

And he killed them as he lay there, 
Slaughtered them by tens and twenties, 
Threw their bodies down the headland, 
Threw them on the beach below him, 
Till at length Kayoshk, the sea-gull, 
Perched upon a crag above them, 
Shouted : " It is Pau-Puk-Keewis ! 
He is slaying us by hundreds ! 
Send a message to our brother, 
Tidings send to Hiawatha !" 



XVII. 



THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 



Full of wrath was Hiawatha 
When he came into the village, 
Found the people in confusion, 
Heard of all the misdemeanours, 
All the malice and the mischief, 
Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
Hard his breath came through 
nostrils, 



his 



Through his teeth he buzzed and 

muttered 
Words of anger and resentment, 
Hot and humming, like a hornet. 
"I will slay this Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Slay this mischief-maker !" said he. 
" Not so long and wide the world is, , 
Not so rude and rough the way is, 



' 



THE HUNTING OF 

That my wrath shall not attain him, 
That my vengeance shall not reach him! " 

Then in swift pursuit departed 
Hiawatha and the hunters 
On the trail of Pau-Puk-Kecv. 
Through the forest, where he passed it, 
To the headlands where he rested ; 
But they found not Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Only in the trampled grasses, 
In the whortleberry-bu 
Found the conch where he had rested, 
Found the im; body. 

From the lowlands far beneath them, 
From the Muskoday, the meadow, 
Pau-Puk-Keewis, turning backward, 

Made a gesture of defiance, 

Made a gesture of derision ; 

And aloud cried Hiawatha, 

From the summit of the mountain: 

" Not BO long and wide the world is, 

Not SO rude and rough the u.i; i , 

I But my wrath shall overtake you. 
And my vengeance shall attain you !" 
Over rock and ov< r i 

! Thorough bush, and brake, and forest, 
Ran tin- cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis j 
Like an antelope he bounded, 
Till he came unto a streamlet 
In the middle of the forest, 

1 To a streamlet still and tranquil, 
That had overflowed its margin. 
To a dam made by the be 
To a pond of quiet water, 
Where knee-deep the trees were 

standing, 
Where the water-lilies floated, 
Wherethe rushes waved and whispered. 

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-K 
On the dam of trunks and branches, 
Through whose chinks the water 

spouted. 
O'er whose summit flowed the streamlet, 
From the bottom rose a beaver, 

! Looked with two great eyes of wonder 



PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 377 

Eyes that seemed to ask a question, . 
At the stringer, Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet, 
Flowed the bright and silvery water, 
And he spake unto the beaver, 
With a smile he spake in this wise: 

•• my friend Ahmeek, the beaver, 
Cool and pleasant is the water ; 
Let me dive into the water. 
Let me rest there in your lodges; 
Change me, too, into a beaver!" 

Cautiously replied the beaver. 
With reserve he thus made answer: 
" Let me first consult the others, 
Let me ask the other beavers." 
Down he sank into the water. 
Heavily sank he, a8 a stone sinks, 
Down among the leaves and branches, 
Brown and matted at the bottom. 

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
O'er his ankles llowed the streamlet, 
Spouted through the chinks below 
him, 
I upon the stones beneath him, 
I serene and calm before him, 
And the sunshine and the shadows 
Fell in flecks and gleams upon him, 
Fell in little shining patches, 
Through the waving, rustling branches. 

From the bottom rose the beavers, 
Silently above the surface 
Rose one head and then another, 
Till the pond seemed full of beavers, 
Full of black and shining faces. 

To the beavers Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Spake entreating, said in this wise : 
" Very pleasant is your dwelling, 
O my friends ! and safe from danger ; 
Can you not with all your cunning, 
All your wisdom and contrivance, 
Change me, too, into a beaver?" 

" Yes!" replied Ahmeek, the beaver. 
He the King of all the beavers, 



37$ 



THE SONG OF HIA WA THA. 



'Let yourself slide down among us, 
Down into the tranquil water." 

Down into the pond among them 
Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis ; 
Black became his shirt of deer-skin, 
Black his moccasins and leggings, 
In a broad black tail behind him 
Spread his fox-tails and his fringes ; 
He was changed into a beaver. 

"Make me large," said Pau-Puk- 
Keewis, 
" Make me large and make me larger, 
Larger than the other beavers." 
'* Yes," the beaver chief responded, 
" When our lodge below you enter, 
In our wigwam we will make you 
Ten times larger than the others." 

Thus into the clear, brown water 
Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis ; 
Found the bottom covered over 
With the trunks of trees and branches, 
Hoards of food against the winter, 
Piles and heaps against the famine, 
Found the lodge with arching doorway, 
Leading into spacious chambers. 

Here they made him large and larger, 
Made him largest of the beavers, 
Ten times larger than the others. 
" You shall be our ruler," said they ; 
" Chief and king of all the beavers." 

But not long had Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Sat in state among the- beavers, 
When there came a voice of warning 
From the watchman at his station 
In the water-flags and lilies, 
Saying, " Here is Hiawatha ! 
Hiawatha with his hunters !" 

Then they heard a cry above them, 
Heard a shouting and a tramping, 
Heard a crashing and a rushing, 
And the water round and o'er them 
Sank and sucked away in eddies, 
And they knew their dam was broken. 

On the lodge's roof the hunters 



Leaped, and broke it all asunder ; 
Streamed the sunshine through the 

crevice, 
Sprang the beavers through the doorway, 
Hid themselves in deeper water, 
In the channel of the streamlet ; 
But the mighty Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Could not pass beneath the doorway : 
He was puffed with pride and feeding, 
He was swollen like a bladder. 

Through the roof looked Hiawatha, 
Cried aloud, " O Pau-Puk-Keewis ! 
Vain are all your craft and cunning, 
Vain your manifold disguises ! 
Well I know you, Pau-Puk-Keewis!" 

With their clubs they beat and 
bruised him, 
Beat to death poor Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Pounded him as maize is pounded, 
Till his skull wag crushed to pieces. 

Six tall hunters, lithe and limber, 
Bore him home on poles and branches, 
Bore the body of the beaver ; 
But the ghost, the Jeebi in him, 
Thought and felt as Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Still lived on as Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

A nd it fluttered, strove, and stru ggled, 
Waving hither, waving thither, 
As the curtains of a wigwam 
Struggle with their thongs of deer-skin, 
When the wintry wind is blowing ; 
Till it drew itself together, 
Till it rose up from the body, 
Till it took the form and features 
Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Vanishing into the forest. 

But the wary Hiawatha 
Saw the figure ere it vanished, 
Saw the form of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Glide into the soft blue shadow 
Of the pine-trees of the forest ; 
Toward the squares of white beyond it, 
Toward an opening in the forest, 
Like a wind it rushed and panted, 



THE HUNTING OF 
[Bending all the boughs before it, 
And behind it, as the rain comes, 
Came the steps of Hiawatha. 

To a lake with n 
tame the breathless Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
fyhere among the water-lilies 
Hshnekuh, the brant, were sailing; 
through the tufts of rushes Boating, 
Steering through the reedy islands. 
Vow their broad black beaks they lifted, 
Now they plunged beneath the water. 
Now they darkened in the shadow, 
now they brightened in the sunshine. 

"Pishnekuhr cried Pau-Puk- 
Keewis, 

Pishnekuh ! my brothers!" said he, 

Change me to a brant with plumage. 
[ itt a Bhining peck and feathers. 
ttake me large, and mak 
Ten times larger than theotl 

Straightway to a brant they changed 
him, 
Vith two huge and dusky pinions. 
* ith a bosom smooth and rounded. 
I ith a bill like two great pad. 1 
lade him larger than the otl 
N tinvs larger than the lai 
[st as. shouting from the I 
n the shore stood Hiawatha. 

Up they rose with cry and clamour. 
[itfi a whirr and beat pf pi 
he Up from the reedy islands. 
bm the water Hags and lilies, 
nd they said to Pau-Puk-Keewis: 
In your Hying, look not downward. 
pe good heed, and look not down- 
ward, 
?st some strange mischance should 

happen, 
fst some great mishap befall you !" 
fast and far they lied to northward. 
It and far through mist and sunshine, 
*1 among the moors and fen-lands, 
tpt among the reeds and rushes. 



PA U-PUK-KEE WIS. 3 y g 

On the morrow as they journeyed 
Buoyed and lifted by the South-wind, 

d onward by the South-wind, 
Blowing fresh and strong behind them, 
Rose a sound of human voices, 
Rose a clamour from beneath them. 
From the lodges of a village, 
From the people miles beneath them. 

For the people of the village 
Saw the flock of brant with wonder, 
Saw the wings of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Flapping far up in the ether, 
Broader than two doorway curtains. 
Pau-Puk-Keewis heard the shouting, 
the voice of Hiawatha, 
he outcry of lagoo, 
And, forgetful of the warning. 
Drew his neck in. and looked downward. 
And the wind that blew behind him 

t his mighty fen of feathers, 
Sent him wheeling, whirling, down- 
:d ! 
All in vain did Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Struggle to regain his balance ! 
Whirling round and round and down- 

Hl beheld in turn the village 
And in turn the Hock above him, 
Saw the village coming nearer, 
And the flock receding farther, 
Heard the voices growing louder, 
Heard the shouting and the laughter; 
Saw no more the flock above him, 
Only saw the earth beneath him ; ' 
Dead out of the empty heaven, 
Dead among the shouting people, 
With a heavy sound and sullen, 
Fell the brant with broken pinions. 

But his soul, his ghost, his shadow, 
Still survived as Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Took again the form and features 
Of the handsome Yenadizze, 
And again went rushing onward, 
Followed fast by Hiawatha, 



5 8o 

Crying: " Not so wide the world is, 
Not so long and rough the way is, . 
But my wrath shall overtake you, 
But my vengeance shall attain you !" 

And so near he came, so near him, 
That his hand was stretched to seize him, 
His right hand to seize and hold him, 
When the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Whirled and spun about in circles, 
Fanned the air into a whirlwind, «, 
Danced the dust and leaves about him, 
And amid the whirling eddies 
Sprang into a hollow oak-tree, 
Changed himself into a serpent, 
Gliding out through root and rubbish . 

With his right hand Hiawatha 
Smote amain the hollow oak-tree, 
Rent it into shreds and splinters, 
Left it lying there in fragments. 
But in vain ; for Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Once again in human figure, 
Full in sight ran on before him, 
Sped away in gust and whirlwind, 
On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
Westward by the Big-Sea- Water, 
Came unto the rocky headlands, 
To the Pictured Rocks of sandstone, 
Looking over lake and landscape. 

And the Old Man of the Mountain, 
He the Manito of Mountains, 
Opened wide his rocky doorways, 
Opened wide his deep abysses, 
Giving Pau-Puk-Keewis shelter 
[n his caverns dark and dreary, 
Bidding Pau-Puk-Keewis welcome 
To his gloomy lodge of sandstone. 

There without stood Hiawatha, 
Found the doorways closed against him, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Smote great caverns in the sandstone, 
Cried aloud in tones of thunder, 
' Open ! I am Hiawatha !" 
But the Old Man of the Mountain 
Opened not, and made no answer . 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



From the sileLt crags of sandstone. 
From the gloomy rock abysses. 

Then he raised his hands to heave ' 
Called imploring on the tempest, 
Called Waywassimo, the lightning, J , 
And the thunder, Annemeekee ; 
And they came with night and darkne 
Sweeping down the Big-Sea- Water 
From the distant Thunder Mountain 
And the trembling Pau-Puk-Keewi 
Heard the footsteps of the thunder, ( 
Saw the red eyes of the lightning, 
Was afraid, and crouched and tremble' 

Then Waywassimo, the lightning 
Smote the doorways of the caverns, 
With his war-club smote the doorway" 
Smote the jutting crags of sandston 
And the thunder, Annemeekee, 
Shouted down into the caverns, 
Saying, " Where is Pau-Puk-Keewis 
And the crags fell, and beneath thei 
Dead among the rocky ruins 
Lay the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, j" 
Lay the handsome Yenadizze, 
Slain in his own human figure. 

Ended were his wild adventures, 
Ended were his tricks and gambols, 
Ended all his craft and cunning, 
Ended all his mischief-making, 
All his gambling and his dancing, 
All his wooing of the maidens. 

Then the noble Hiawatha 
Took his soul, his ghost, his shadow 
Spake and said: "O Pau-Puk-Keewi 
Never more in human figure 
Shall y r ou search for new adventure? 
Never more with jest and laughter 
Dance the dust and leaves in whirlwinc 
But above there in the heavens 
You shall soar and sail in circles : 
I will change you to an eagle, 
To Keneu, the great war-eagle, sj 
Chief of all the fowls with feathers. 
Chief of Hiawatha's chickens." 



THE DEATH OF KWASIXD. 



And the name of Pau-Puk-Keewia 

ngers still among the people, 

ngers still among the singers, 

id among the story-tellers ; 

nd in V\ inter, when the snow-flakes 

7 hirl in eddies round the lodges, 



38l 

When the wind in gusty tumult 
O'er the smoke-flue pipes and whistles, 
" There," they cry, a eomes Pau-Puk- 

Keewis ; 
He is dancing through the village, 
He is gathering in his harvest i" 



XVIII. 

THE DEATH OF KWASIND. 



\R and wide among the nations 
[read the name and feme of Kwasind ; 

man dared tostrive with Kwasind, 

t> man could compete with Kwasind. 
ut the mischievous Puk-Wudjies, 
'•ftiey the envious Little People, 
hey the fairies and the pigmies, 
lotted and conspired against him. 

If this hateful Kwasind," said they, 
If this great, outrageous fellow 
oes on thus a little longer, 
earing everything he tone 1 
fending everything to pi« 
tiling all the world with wonder, 
S hat becomes of the Puk-W udjies? 

1 ho will care for the Puk-Wudjies? 
:•• will tread us down like mushrooms, 
Pnve us all into the water, 

ive our bodies to be eaten 
y the wicked Nce-ba-naw-baigs, 
y the Spirits of the Water!" 
So the angry Little People 
11 conspired against the Strong Man, 
.11 conspired to murder Kwasind, 
leg, to rid the world of Kwasind, 
'he audacious, overbearing, 
leartless, haughty, dangerous Kwa- 
sind! 
Now this wondrous strength of 
Kwasind 
b his crown alone was seated; 
n his crown too was his weakn 
There alone could he be wounded, 



Nowhere else could weapon pierce him. 
Nowhere else could weapon harm him. 

Even there the only weapon 
That could wound him, that could slay 

him, 
Was the seed-cone of the pine-tree, 
\\ .is the blue cone of the fir-tree. 
This was Kwasind's fetal 
Known to no man among mortals; 
But the cunning Little People, 
The Puk-WudjieS, knew the secret, 
Kr.ew the only way to kill him. 

So they gathered cones together, 
Gathered seed-cones of the pine-tree, 
Gathered blue cones of the fir-tree, 
In the woods by Taquamenaw, 
Brought them to the river's margin. 
Heaped them in great piles together, 
\\ here the red rocks from the margin 
Jutting overhang the river. 
There they lay in wait for Kwasind, 
The malicious Little People. 

'Twas an afternoon in Summer ; 
Very hot and still the air was, 
Wry smooth the gliding river, 
.Motionless the sleeping shadows: 
Insects glistened in the sunshine, 
Insects skated on the water, 
Filled the drowsy air with buzzing, 
With a far-resounding war-cry. 

Down the river came the Strong H Tan, 
In his birch canoe came Kwasind, 
Floating slowly down the current 



382 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



Of the sluggish Taquamenaw, 
Very languid with the weather, 
Very sleepy with the silence. 

From the overhanging branches, 
From the tassels of the birch-trees, 
Soft the Spirit of Sleep descended; 
By his airy hosts surrounded, 
Kis invisible attendants, 
Game the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin ; 
Like the burnished Dush-kwo-ne-she, 
Like a dragon-fly, he hovered 
O'er the drowsy head of Kwasind. 

To his ear there came a murmur 
As of waves upon a sea-shore, 
As of far-off tumbling waters, 
As of winds among the pine-trees ; 
And he felt upon his forehead 
Blows of little airy war-clubs, 
Wielded by the slumbrous legions 
Of the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, 
As of some one breathing on him. 

At the first blow of their war-clubs 
Fell a drowsiness on Kwasind; 
At the second blow they smote him, 
Motionless his paddle rested; 
At the third, before his vision 
Reeled the landscape into darkness, 
Very sound asleep was Kwasind. 

So he floated down the river, 
Like a blind man seated upright* 



I 



Floated down the Taquamenaw, I 
Underneath the trembling birch-trees" 
Underneath the wooded headlands, , 
Underneath the war encampment 
Of the pigmies, the Puk-Wudjies. 
There they stood, all armed an^ 
waiting, 
Hurled the pine-cones down upon hiir 
Struck him on his brawny shoulders, - 
On his crown defenceless struck him.; 
" Death to Kwasind!" was the suddei 
War-cry of the Little People. 

And he sideways swayed and tum- c 
bled, 
Sideways fell into the river, 
Plunged beneath the sluggish water 
Headlong, as an otter plunges; 
And the birch-canoe, abandoned, 
Drifted empty down the river, 
Bottom upward swerved and drifted: 
Nothing more was seen of Kwasind. 

But the memory of the Strong Man 
Lingered long among the people, 
And whenever through the forest 
Raged and roared the wintry tempest, 
And the branches, tossed and troubled, 
Creaked and groaned and split asunder, 
"Kwasind!" cried they; "that is 

Kwasind ! 
He is gathering in his fire-wood!" 






XIX. 



THE GHOSTS. 



Never stoops the soaring vulture 
On his quarry in the desert, 
On the sick or wounded bison, 
But another vulture, watching 
From his high aerial look-out, 
Sees the downward plunge, and follows ; 
And a third pursues the second, 
Coming from the invisible ether, 



First a speck, and then a vulture, 
Till the air is dark with pinions. 
So disasters come not singly ; 
But as if they watched and waited, 
Scanning one another's motions, 
When the first descends, the others 
Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise 
Round their victim, sick and wounded, 



THE GHOSTS. 
First a shadow, then a sorrow, Without word of salutation, 

Till the air is dark with anguish. Without sign of recognition, 

Now, o'er all the dreary Northland, Sat down in the farthest comer, 
Mighty Peboan, the Winter, Crouching low among the shadows. 

Breathing on the lakes and rivers, 
Into stone had changed their waters, 
From his hair he shook the snow-flakes, 
Till the plains were strewed with white- 
One uninterrupted level, 
As if. Stooping, the Creator 



3*3 



From their aspect and their garments, 
! Strangers seemed they in the village ; 
! Very pale and haggard were they, 
As they sat there sad and silent, 
Trembling, cowering with the shadows. 
Was it the wind above the smoke- 
flue, 



With his hand had smoothed them over. Muttering down into the wigwam ? 



Through the forest, wide and wailing. 
I Roamed the hunter on his snow- 
In the village- worked the women, 
Pounded maize, or dressed th 
skin ; 

And the young men played together 

On the ice the noisy ball-play, I rom the land of the Hereafter ! M 

On the plain the dance of snow-shoe. Homeward now came Hiawatha 



the owl, the Koko-koho, 
Hooting from the dismal forest? 
Sure a voice said in the silence: 

clad in garments. 
These are ghosts that come to haunt you, 
From the kingdom of Ponemah, 



One dark evening, alter sundown, 
In her wigwam Laughing \\ ater 
Sat with old Nokomis, waiting 

For the steps of } liawatha 

Homeward from the hunt returning. 

On their faces gleamed the lire-light. 

Painting them with streaks of crimson, 

In the « ■_ ■ ikomis 

Glimmered like the watery moonlight. 

In the eyes of Laughing \ v > 

Glistened like the sun in water; 

And behind them crouched their 
shadows 

In the corners of The wigwam, 
\nd the smoke in wreaths above them 

Climbed and crowded through the 
smoke-flue. 
Then the curtain of thi 

From without was slowly lifted ; 

I Brighter glowed the fire a moment, 

I And a moment swerved the smoke- 
wreath. 

As two women entered softly, 

Passed the doorway uninvited, 



from his hunting il 

W ith the mow upon his t: 

And the red deer on his shoulders. 

At the i ' ing V^ aUr 

Down he threw his lifeless burden | 

■he thought him. 
Than when first he came to woo her ; 
; ivw down the deer before her, 
As a token of his v. j 
As a promise of the future. 

Then he turned and saw the strangers. 
Cowering, crouching with the shadows; 
Said within himself, "Who are they? 
What strange guests has Minnehaha ?" 
But he questioned not the strangers, 
Only spake to bid them welcome 
To his lodge, his food, his fireside. 

When the evening meal was ready, 
And the deer had been divided, 
Both the pallid guests, the strangers, 
Springing from among the shadows, 
Seized upon the choicest portions, 
Seized the white fat of the roebuck, 
Set apart for Laughing Water, 



384 THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 



For the wife of Hiawatha ; 
Without asking, without thanking, 
Eagerly devoured the morsels, 
Flitted back among the shadows 
In the comer of the wigwam. 

Not a word spake Hiawatha, 
Not a motion made Nokomis, 
Not a gesture Laughing Water ; 
Not a change came o'er their features : 
Only Minnehaha softly 
Whispered, saying, "They are fa- 
mished ; 
Let them do what best delights them ; 
Let them eat, for they are famished." 

Many a daylight dawned and dark- 
ened, 
Many a night shook off the daylight 
As the pine shakes off the snow-flakes 
From the midnight of its branches ; 
Day by day the guests unmoving 
Sat there silent in the wigwam ; 
But by night, in storm or starlight, 
Forth they went into the forest, 
Bringing fire-wood to the wigwam, 
Bringing pine-cones for the burning, 
Always sad and always silent. 

And whenever Hiawatha 
Came from fishing or from hunting, 
When the evening meal was ready, 
And the food had been divided, 
Gliding from their darksome corner, 
Came the pallid guests, the strangers, 
Seized upon the choicest portions 
Set aside for Laughing Water, 
And without rebuke or question 
Flitted back among the shadows. 

Never once had Hiawatha 
By a word or look reproved them ; 
Never once had old Nokomis 
Made a gesture of impatience ■ 
Never once had Laughing Water 
Shown resentment at the outrage. 
All had they endured in silence, 
That the rights of guest and stranger, 



That the virtue of free-giving, 
By a look might not be lessened, 
By a word might not be broken. 

Once at midnight Hiawatha, 
Ever wakeful, ever watchful, 
In the wigwam, dimly lighted 
By the brands that still were burning, 
By the glimmering, flickering fire-light, | 
Heard a sighing, oft repeated, 
Heard a sobbing, as of sorrow. 

From his couch rose Hiawatha, 
From his shaggy hides of bison, 
Pushed aside the deer-skin curtain, 
Saw the pallid guests, the shadows, 
Sitting upright on their couches, 
Weeping in the silent midnight. 

And he said: "O guests! why is it 
That your hearts are so afflicted, 
That you sob so in the midnight ? 
Has perchance the old Nokomis, 
Has my wife, my Minnehaha, 
Wronged or grieved you by unkindness, 
Failed in hospitable duties ?" 

Then the shadows ceased from 
weeping, 
Ceased from sobbing and lamenting, 
And they said, with gentle voices: 
" We are ghosts of the departed, 
Souls of those who once were with you. 
From the realms of Chibiabos 
Hither have we come to try you, 
Hither have we come to warn you. 

" Cries of grief and lamentation 
Reach us in the Blessed Islands; 
Cries of anguish from the living, 
Calling back their friends departed, 
Sadden us with useless sorrow. 
Therefore have we come to try you ; 
No one knows us, no one heeds us. 
We are but a burden to you, 
And we see that the departed 
Have no place among the living. 

" Think of this, O Hiawatha! 
Speak of it to all the people, 



► 



" 



THE Fj 
Th.it henceforward and for ever 
They no more with lamentations 
Sadden the souls of the departed 
In the Islands of the Ble 

" Do not lay sueh heavy burd 
In the graves of those you bury, 
Not such weight of furs and wampum, 
Not such weight of pots and kettles, 
For the spirits faint beneath ti. 
Only give them food to cany, 
Only give them lire to light them. 

" Four days is the spirit's journey 
; To the land of ghosts and shadows, 
Four its lonely night eneampn. 
Four times must their fires be I 

ore, when the dead are buried, 
Let a i.i 

Four times on the grave be kindled, 
That th( 

Ma;, not lack the cheerful fire-light, 
.Ma) not grope about in dark:.. 



IMLXE. 385 

" Farewell, noble Hiawatha! 
We have put you to the trial, 
To the proof have put your patience, 
By the insult of our presence, 
outrage of our actions. 
We have lound you great and noble. 
Fail not in the greater trial, 
Faint not in the harder struggle." 
W hen they ceased, a sudden dark- 
ness 
Fell and filled the silent wigwam. 
Hiawatha heard a 1 1 
As of garments trailing by him, 

. the curtain of the doorway 
Lifted by a hand he saw not. 
Felt the eold breath of the night air, 
For a moment rlightj 

But he saw th 

Saw i 1 i 1 Its 

From the kingdom of Poncmah, 
From the land of th 



XX. 



THE FAMINE. 



O the long and dreary Winter ! 
O the cold and cruel \\ inter ! 
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 

Froze the ice on lake and river, 
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, 
Fell the covering snow, and drifted 
Through the forest, round the village. 

I lardly from his buried wigwam 
[Could the hunter force a passage; 
With his mittens and his snow-shoes 
Vainly walked he through the forest, 
[Sought for bird or beast and found none, 
Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 
jln the snow beheld no footprints, 
In the ghastly, gleaming forest 
Fell, and could not rise from weakness, 
Perished there from cold and hunger. 



O the famine and the fever ! 
O the wasting of the famine! 
C) the blasting of the fever ! 
() the wailing of the children ! 
O the anguish of the women ! 

All the earth was sick and famished ; 
Hungry was the air around them, 
Hungry was the sky above them, 
And the hungry stars in heaven 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at 
them ! 

Into Hiawatha's wigwam 
Came two other guests, as silent 
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, 
Waited not to be invited, 
Did not parley at the doorway, 
Sat there without word of welcome 
In the seat of Laughing Water; 



3 86 



THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 



Looked with haggard eyes and hollow 
At the face of Laughing Water. 

And the foremost said: " Behold me ! 
I am Famine, Bukadawin ! " 
And the other said : "Behold me ! 
I am Fever, Ahkosewin ! " 

And the lovely Minnehaha 
Shuddered as they looked upon her, 
Shuddered at the words they uttered, 
Lay down on her bed in silence, 
Hid her face, but made no answer ; 
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning 
At the looks they cast upon her, 
At the fearful words they uttered. 

Forth into the empty forest 
Rushed the maddened Hiawatha ; 
In his heart was deadly sorrow, 
In his face a stony firmness ; 
On his brow the sweat of anguish 
Started, but it froze and fell not. 

Wrapped in furs and armed for 
hunting, 
With his mighty bow of ash-tree, 
With his quiver full of arrows, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Into the vast and vacant forest 
On his snow-shoes strode he forward. 

" Gitche Manito, the Mighty ! " 
Cried he with his face uplifted 
In that bitter hour of anguish, 
" Give your children food, O father ! 
Give us food, or we must perish ! 
Give me food for Minnehaha, 
For my dying Minnehaha ! " 

Through the far-resounding forest, 
Through the forest vast and vacant 
Rang that cry of desolation, 
But there came no other answer 
Than the echo of his crying, 
Than the echo of the woodlands, 
" Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! " 

All day long roved Hiawatha 
In that melancholy forest, 
Through the shadow of whose thickets, 



- 



In the pleasant days of Summer, 
Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, 
He had brought his young wife home- [ 

ward 
From the land of the Dacotahs ; 
When the birds sang in the thickets, 
And the streamlets laughed and giis- o 

tened, 
And the air was full of fragrance, 
And the lovely Laughing Water 
Said with voice that did not tremble 
" I will follow you, my husband ! " 

In the wigwam with Nokomis, 
With those gloomy guests, that watched 

her, 
With the Famine and the Fever, 
She was lying, the Beloved, 
She the dying Minnehaha. 

"Hark 2" she said; "I hear a rush- 
ing, 
Hear a roaring and a rushing, 
Hear the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to me from a distance !" 
"No, my child," said old Nokomis, 
" 'T is the night- wind in the pine-trees ! 

" Look," she said ; " I see my father- 
Standing lonely at his doorway, 
Beckoning to me from his wigwam 
In the land of the Dacotahs !" 
"No, my child !" said old Nokomis, 
" 'T is the smoke, that waves and 
beckons !" 

" Ah ! " she said, "the eyes of Pauguk 
Glare upon me in the darkness, 
I can feel his icy fingers 
Clasping mine amid the darkness ! 
Hiawatha ! Hiawatha !" 

And the desolate Hiawatha, 
Far away amid the forest, 
Miles away among the mountains, 
Heard that sudden cry of anguish, 
Heard the voice of Minnehaha 
Calling to him in the darkness, 
" Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 






E WHITE 
Over snow-fields waste and pathless, 
Under snow-encumbered branches, 
Homeward hurried Hiawatha, 
Empty-handed, heavy-heart v. d. 
Heard Nokomis moaning, 
" Wahonowin ! \\ ahonowin ! 
Would that I had perished for 
Would that I were dead as you 
Wahonowin ! \\ ahonowin I" 

And he rtuhfid into the wigwam, 
Saw the old Nokomis slowly- 
Rocking to and fro and moaning, 
Saw his lovely Minnehaha 
[Lying dead and cold before him, 
\nd his bunting heart within him 
[Uttered such a cry of anguish, 
That the forest moaned and shuddered. 
That the very stars in heaven 
Shook and trembled with his anguish. 

:i he sat down, still ai I 
t)n the bed of Minnehaha, 
At the feet of I \ .iter, 

More would lightly run to meet him, 
Never mure would lightly follow. 

With both hands his face he covered, 
I even long days and nigh; - 
\s if in a swoon he Bat there 

.iless, motionless, unconscious 
)f the daylight or the dai 
Then they buried Minnehaha ; 
I in the snow a grave they made her, 



MAN'S FOOT. 387 

In the forest deep and darksome, 
Underneath the moaning hemlocks; 
Clothed her in her richest garments, 

ed her in her robes of ermine, 
Covered her with snow, like ermine; 
Thus they buried Minnehaha. 

And at night a fire was lighted. 
On her grave four times was kindled, 

r soul upon its journey 
To the Islands of the Bl< 

hifl doorway Hiaw 

burning in the forest, 
Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks; 
From his sleepless bed uprising, 
From the bed of Minnehaha, 
Stood and watched it at the doorway, 
That it might not be extingui. 
Might not leave her in the darkness, 

.well!" said he, " Minnehaha! 
Farewell, my Laughing Water! 
All my heart is buried with you, 
All my thoughts go onward with you! 
Come not back again to labour, 
Come not back again to suffer, 
Where the Famine and the Fever 

the heart and waste the body. 
Soon my task will be completed, 
Soon your footsteps I shall follow 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the Land of the I 



Is his lodge beside a river, 
Close beside a frozen river. 

and lonely. 
Kvhite his hair was as a snow-drift ; 
Dull and low his fire was burning. 
And the old man shook and trembled, 
Folded in his Waubcwyon, 



XXI. 



THE WHITE MAX'S FOOT. 



In his tattered white-skin wrapper, 
Hearing nothing but the tempest 
As it roared along the fo] 
Seeing nothing but the snow-storm, 
As it whirled and hissed and drifted, 

All the coals were white with ashes, 
And the fire was slowly dying, 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA, 



As a young man, walking lightly, 
At the open doorway entered. 
Red with blood of youth his cheeks were, 
Soft his eyes, as stars in Spring-time, 
Bound his forehead was with grasses; 
Bound and plumed with scented grasses, 
On his lips a smile of beauty, 
Filling all the lodge with sunshine. 
In his hand a bunch of blossoms 
Filling all the lodge with sweetness. 

"Ah, my son!" exclaimed the old 
man, 
" Happy are my eyes to see you. 
Sit here on the mat beside me, 
Sit here by the dying embers, 
Let us pass the night together. 
Tell me of your strange adventures, 
Of the lands where you have travelled ; 
I will tell you of my prowess, 
Of my many deeds of wonder." 

From his pouch he drew his peace- 
pipe, 
Very old and strangely fashioned 
Made of red stone was the pipe-head, 
And the stem a reed with feathers ; 
Filled the pipe with bark of willow, 
Placed a burning coal upon it, 
Gave it to his guest, the stranger, 
And began to speak in this wise : 

" When I blow my breath about me, 
When I breathe upon the landscape, 
Motionless are all the rivers, 
Hard as stone becomes the water ! " 

And the young man answered, 
smiling : 
" When I blow my breath about me, 
When I breathe upon the landscape, 
Flowers spring up o'er all the meadows. 
Singing, onward rush the rivers !" 

" When I shake my hoary tresses," 
Said the old man darkly frowning, 
" All the land with snow is covered ; 
All the leaves from all the branches 
Fall and fade and die and wither, 



For I breathe, and lo ! they are not. 
From the waters and the marshes 
Rise the wild goose and the heron, 
Fly away to distant regions, 
For I speak, and lo ! they are not. 
And where'er my footsteps wander, 
All the wild beasts of the forest 
Hide themselves in holes and caverns, 
And the earth becomes as flintstone !" 

"When I shake my flowing ringlets," 
Said the young man, softly laughing, 
" Showers of rain fall warm and welcome, 
Plants lift up their heads rejoicing, 
Back unto their lakes and marshes 
Come the wild goose and the heron, 
Homeward shoots the arrowy swallow, 
Sing the blue-bird and the robin, 
And where'er my footsteps wander, 
All the meadows wave with blossoms. 
All the woodlands ring with music. 
All the trees are dark with foliage !" 

While they spake the night departed; 
From the distant realms of Wabun, 
From his shining lodge of silver, 
Like a warrior robed and painted, 
Came the sun, and said, "Behold me! 
Gheezis, the great sun, behold me !" 

Then the old man's tongue was 
speechless, 
And the air grew warm and pleasant, 
And upon the wigwam sweetly 
Sang the blue-bird and the robin, 
And the stream began to murmur, 
And a scent of growing grasses 
Through the lodge was gently wafted. 

And Segwun, the youthful stranger, 
More distinctly in the daylight 
Saw the icy face before him ; 
It was Peboan, the "Winter ! 

From his eyes the tears were flowing, 
As from melting lakes the streamlets, 
And his body shrunk and dwindled 
As the shouting sun ascended, 
Till into the air it faded, 



THE WHITE 
Till into the ground it vanished, 
And the young man saw before him, 
On the hearth-stone of the wigwam, 
Where the fire had smok 

smouldered, 
Saw the earliest flower of Spring-time, 
Saw the Beauty of the Spring-time, 
Saw the Miskodeed in blossom. 

Thus it was that in the Northland 
After that unheard-of coldness, 
That intolerable Winter, 
Came the Spring with all its splendour, 
}\\ its birds and all its blossoms, 
All its flowers and leaves and grasses. 

Sailing on the wind to northward, 
Flying in great flock.;, like arrows, 
Like huge arrows shot through heaven, 
Pasted the swan, the Mahnahb 
Speaking almost as a man spe 
And in long lines waving, bending 
Like a bow-string snapped asunder. 
Came the white goo te, \\ aw-be-wawa ; 
And in pairs, or singly ! ! 
Mahngtheloon, with clangorous pinions, 
The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
And the grou e, the Mushkod 

In the thickets and the meadows 
Piped the blue-bird, the * I 
On the summit of I 
Sang the robin, the Opo 
In the covert of the pine-trees 
Cooed the pigeon, the Omemc, 
And the sorrowing Hiawatha, 
Speechless in his infinite sorrow, 
1 feard their voices calling to him, 
Went forth from his gloomy doorway, 
Stood and gazed into the heaven, 
Gazed upon the earth and waters. 

From his wanderings far to east- 
ward, 
From the regions of the morning, 
From the shining land of Wabun, 
Homeward now returned Iagoo, 
The great traveller, the great boaster, 



MAN'S FOOT. 189 

Full of new and strange adventure?, 
Marvels many and many wonders. 

And the people of the village 
Listened to him as he told them 
Of his marvellous adventures, 
Laughing answered him in thi*3 wise: 

I agoo ! 
No one else beholds such wonders !" 

He had seen, he said, a \ 
than the Big-Sea- Water, 
Broader than the Gitche Cumee, 
Hitter so that none could drink it ! 
At each other looked the warriors, 
Looked the women at each other, 
Smiled, and said, " It cannot be so ! 
it cannot be 

O'er it, said he, o'er this water 

Came a great canoe with pinions, 

with wings came flying, 

r than a grove of pine-ti \ 

Taller than the tallest tree-tops! 

And the old men and the women 

d and tittered at each other; 
" Kaw!" they said,'* we don't believe it !" 

From its mouth, he said, to greet him, 
Came \\ . . lightning, 

Came the thunder, Annemeekee! 
And the warriors and the women 
Laughed aloud at poor Iagoo ; 

' they said, "what tales you tell 
11s!" 

In it, said he, came a people, 
In the great canoe with pinions 
Came, he said, a hundred warriors; 
Painted white were all their faces, 
And with hair their chins were covered ! 
And the warriors and the women 
Laughed and shouted in derision, 
Like the ravens on the tree-tops, 
Like the crows upon the hemlocks. 
" Kaw !" they said, " what lies you tell us ! 
Do not think that we believe them!" 

Only Hiawatha laughed not, 
But he gravely spake and answered 



39° 



THE SONG OF HI A WA THA_. 



To their jeering and their jesting : 
"True is all Iagoo tells us; 
I have seen it in a vision, 
Seen the great canoe with pinions, 
Seen the people with white faces. 
Seen the coming of this bearded 
People of the wooden vessel 
From the regions of the morning, 
From the shining land of Wabun. 

" Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
The Great Spirit, the Creator, 
Sends them hither on his errand, 
Sends them to us with his message. 
Wheresoe'er they move, before them 
Swarms the stinging fly, the Ahmo, 
Swarms the bee, the honey-maker; 
Wheresoe'er they tread, beneath them 
Springs a flower unknown among us, 
Springs the White-man's Foot in 
blossom. 

" Let us welcome, then, the strangers, 
Hail them as our friends and brothers, 
And the heart's right hand of friendship 
Give them when they come to see us. 



Gitche Manito, the Mighty, 
Said this to me in my vision. 

" I beheld, too, in that vision, 
AH the secrets of the future, 
Of the distant days that shall be. 
I beheld the westward marches 
Of the unknown, crowded nations. 
All the land was full of people, 
Restless, struggling, toiling, striving, 
Speaking many tongues, yet feeling 
But one heart-beat in their bosoms. 
In the woodlands rang their axes, 
Smoked their towns in all the valleys, 
Over all the lakes and rivers 
Rushed their great canoes of thuncLr. 

" Then a darker, drearier vision. 
Passed before me, vague and cloud-like, 
I beheld our nations scattered, 
All forgetful of my counsels, 
Weakened, waning with each other; 
Saw the remnants of our people 
Sweeping westward, wild and woful, 
Like the cloud-rack of a tempest, 
Like the withered leaves of autumn!" 



XXII. 



HIAWATHAS DEPARTUREo 



By the shore of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
In the pleasant Summer morning, 
Hiawatha stood and waited. 

All the air was full of freshness, 
All the earth was bright and joyous, 
And before him, through the sunshine, 
Westward toward the neighbouring 

forest 
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo, 
Passed the bees, the honey-makers, 
Burning, singing in the sunshine. 

Bright above him shone the heavens, 
LeVel spread the lake before him ; 



From its bosom leaped the sturgeon, 
Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine; 
On its margin the great forest 
Stood reflected in the water, 
Every tree-top had its shadow, 
Motionless beneath the water. 

From the brow of Hiawatha 
Gone was every trace of sorrow, 
As the fog from off the water, 
As the mist from off the meadow. 
With a smile of joy and triumph, 
With a look of exultation, 
As of one who in a vision 
Sees what is to be, but is not, 
Stood and waited Hiawatha. 



HI A WA THA'S 
Toward the sun his hands were lifted, 
Both the palms spread out against it, 
And between the parted fingers 
Fell the sunshine on his features, 
Flecked with light his naked shoulders, 
As it falls and (leeks an oak-tree 
Through the rifted leaves and branches 

O'er the water floating, 
Something in the hazy di I 
Something in the mists of mon 
Loomed and lined from the v. 

• med floating,™ >\v a < med Hying, 
irer, nearer* 
Was it Shin ;ebi i the diver? 
: the pelican, the Shada ? 
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah? 
Or the white g< 10 e, W ah-be- 
With the water dripping, (lashing 
From its glossy neck and feat! 

It was neith I diver, 

Neither pelican nor heron, 
O'er the water floating, fl] 

Through the shining mist of morning. 

But a birch canoe with p 

I ing, .sinking on the \\ 
Dripping, fla hlng in the un hine. 
And within it came a people 
From the distant land of Wabun, 

From the farthest realms of morning 
Came the Black-Robe chief, the 
Prophet, 

Prie I of Prayer, the Pale-face, 
V. ith his guides and his companions. 

And the noble Hiawatha, 
With hi:', hands aloft extended, 
I hid aloft in sign of welcome, 
Waited, full of exultation, 
Till the birch canoe with paddles 
Grated on the shining pebbles. 
Stranded on the sandy margin. 
Till the Black-Robochief, the Pale-face, 
AY ith the cross upon his bosom, 
Landed on the sandy margin. 

Then the joyous Hiawatha 



DEPARTURE. 39 1 

1 Cried aloud and spake in this wise : 
" Beautiful is the sun, O strangers, 
When you come so far to see us ! 
All our town in peace awaits you, 
All our doors stand open for you ; 
You shall enter all our wigwams, 
For the heart's right hand we give you 
. er bloomed the earth so gaily, 
-one the sun so brightly, 
As to-day they shine and blossom 
When you t 'to see us ! 

Never was our lake so tranquil, 

free from rocks and sand-bar;- • 
•r birch canoe in passing 
moved both rock and sand-bar! 
1 ad our tobacco 
Such a sweet and pie.;, nit flavour, 
Neverthe broad leaves of our corn-fields 

'itiful to look on, 
As they - .is morning, 

W hen you Come BO f'.r to see Us !" 

! the Black-Robe chief made 
ans\. 
Stammered in his speech a little, 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar: 
P be with you, Hiawatha, 

be with you and your people, 
Peace of prayer, and pi-ace of pardon, 
! joy of Mary l" 
Then the generous Hiawatha 
TaiI the strangers to his wigwam. 
Seated them on skins of bison, 
Seated them on skins of ermine, 
And the careful, old Kokomis 
Brought them food in bowls of bass- 
wood, 
Water brought in birchen dippers, 
And the calumet, the peace-pipe, 
Filled and lighted for their smoking. 

All the old men of the village, 
All the warriors of the nation, 
All the Jossakeeds, the prophets, 
The magicians, the Wabenos, 
And the medicine-men, the Medas, 



302 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



Came to bid the strangers welcome ; 
" It is well," they said, " O brothers, 
That you come so far to see us ! " 

In a circle round the doorway, 
With their pipes they sat in silence, 
Waiting to behold the strangers, 
Waiting to receive their message ; 
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face, 
From the wigwam came to greet them, 
Stammering in his speech a little, 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar ; 
" It is well," they said, " O brother, 
That you come so far to see us !" 

Then the Black-Robe chief, the pro- 
phet, 
Told his message to the people, 
Told the purport of his mission, 
Told them of the Virgin Mary, 
And her blessed Son, the Saviour, 
How in distant lands and ages 
He had lived on earth as we do ; 
How he fasted, prayed, and laboured ; 
How the Jews, the tribe accursed, 
Mocked him, scourged him, crucified 

him; 
How he rose from where they laid him, 
Walked again with his disciples, 
And ascended into heaven. 

And the chiefs made answer, saying: 
" We have listened to your message, 
We have heard your words of wisdom, 
We will think on what you tell us. 
It is well for us, O brothers, 
That you come so far to see us ! " 

Then they rose up and departed 
Each one homeward to his wigwam, 
To the young men and the women 
Told the story of the strangers 
Whom the Master of Life had sent them 
From the shining land of Wabun. 

Heavy with the heat and silence 
Grew the afternoon of Summer ; 
With a drowsy sound the forest 
Whispered round the sultry wigwam, 



With a sound of sleep the water 
Rippled on the beach below it ; 
From the corn-fields shrill and ceaseless 
Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena; 
And the guests of Hiawatha, 
Weary with the heat of Summer, 
Slumbered in the sultry wigwam. 

Slowly o'er the simmering landscape 
Fell the evening's dusk and coolness, 
And the long and level sunbeams 
Shot their spears into the forest, 
Breaking through its shields of shadow, 
Rushed into each secret ambush, 
Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow ; 
Still the guests of Hiawatha 
Slumbered in the silent wigwam. 

From his place rose Hiawatha, 
Bade farewell to old Nokomis, 
Spake in whispers, spake in this wise, 
Did not wake the guests, that slumbered : 

" I am going, O Nokomis, 
On a long and distant journey, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the regions of the home-wind, 
Of the Northwest wind, Keewaydin. 
But these guests I leave behind me, 
In your watch and ward I leave them ; 
See that never harm comes near them, 
See that never fear molests them, 
Never danger nor suspicion, 
Never want of food or shelter, 
In the lodge of Hiawatha !" 

Forth into the village went he, 
Bade farewell to all the warriors, 
Bade farewell to all the young men, 
Spake persuading, spake in this wise : 

" I am going, O my people, 
On a long and distant journey ; 
Many moons and many winters 
Will have come,and will have vanished, 
Ere I come again to see you. 
But my guests I leave behind me ; 
Listen to their words of wisdom, 
Listen to the truth they tell you, 



HIAWATHA'S 
For the Master of Life has sent them 
From the land of light and morning !" 

On the shore stood Hiawatha, 
Turned and waved his hand at parting ; 
On the clear and luminous water 
Launched his birch canoe for sailing, 
From the pebbles of the margin 
Shoved it forth into the water ; 
Whispered to it, "Westward ! west- 
ward !" 
And with speed it darted forward. 

And the evening sun descending 
Set the clouds on tire with redn 
Kurned the broad sky, like a prairie, 
Left upon the level water 
One long track and trail of splendour, 
Down whose stream, as down a river, 
Westward, w es tw ard Hiawatha 

Sailed into the fiery BUI 
Sailed into the purple vapour:. 
Sailed into the du^k of evening. 

And the people from the margin 
Watched him floating, rising, sinking. 
Till the birch canoe seemed lifted 
High into that sea of splendour, 



DEPARTURE. 393 

Till it sank into the vapours 
Like the new moon slowly, slowly 
Sinking in the purple distance. 

And they said, " Farewell for ever !" 
Said, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" 
And the forests, dark and lonely, 
Moved through all their depths of 

darkness, 
Sighed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" 
And the waves upon the margin 
Rising, rippling on the pebbles, 
Sobbed, " Farewell, O Hiawatha !" 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her haunts among the fen-lands. 
Screamed, "Farewell. O Hiawatha!" 

Thus departed Hiawatha, 
Hiawatha the Beloved, 
In the glory of the sunset, 
In the purple mists of evening. 
To the regions of the home-wind. 
Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin- 
To the [stands of the Bl 

To the kingdom of Poncmah, 
To the land of the Hereafter! 



VOCABULARY. 



Adjidau'mo, the red squirrel. 

Ahdeek', the reindeer. 

Ahkose'win, fever. 

Ahmeek', the beaver. 

Algon'quin, Ojibway. 

Annemee'kee, the thunder. 

Apuk'wa, a bulrush. 

Baim-wa'wa, the sound of the thunder, 

Bemah'gut, the grape-vine. 

Be'na, the pheasant. 

Big-Sea- Water, Lake Superior. 

Bukada'win, famine. 

Cheemaun', a birch canoe, 

Chetowaik', the plover. 

Chibia'bos, a musician ; friend of Hia- 
watha ; ruler in the Land of Spirits. 

Dahin'da, the bull-frog. 

Dush-kwo-ne'-she, or Kwo-ne'-she, the 
dragon-fly. 

Esa, shame upon you. 

Ewa-yea', lullaby. 

Ghee'zis, the sun. 

Gitche Gu'mee, the Big-Sea-Water, Lake 
Superior. 

Gitche Man'ito, the Great Spirit, the 
Master of Life. 

Gushkewau', the darkness. 

Hiawa'tha, the Wise Man, the Teacher; 
son of Mudjekeewis, the West Wind, 
and Wenonah, daughter of Nokomis. 

Ia'goo, a great boaster and story-teller. 

Inin'ewug, men, or pawns in the Game of 
the Bowl. 

Ishkoodah', fire ; a comet. 

Jee'bi, a ghost, a spirit. 

Joss'akeed, a prophet. 

Kabibonok'ka, the North-Wind, 

Kagh, the hedgehog. 

Ka'go, do not. 

Kahgahgee', the raven. 

Kaw, no. 

Kaween', no indeed. 



Kayoshk', the sea-gull. 

Kee'go, ajish. 

Keeway'din, the Northwest Wind, the 
Home-wind. 

Kena'beek, a serpent. 

Keneu', the great war-eagle. 

Keno'zha, the pickerel. 

Ko'ko-ko'ho, the owl. 

Kuntasoo', the Game of Plumstones. 

Kwa'sind, the Strong Man. 

Kwo-ne'-she, or Dush-kwo-ne'-she, the 
dragon-fly. 

Mahnahbe'zee, the swan. 

Mahng, the loon. 

Mahn-go-tay / see, loon-hearted, brave. 

Mahnomo'nee, wild rice. 

Ma'ma, the icoodpecker. 

Maskeno'zha, the pike. 

Me'da, a medicine-man. 

Meenah'ga, the blueberry. 

MegissogVon, the great Pearl-Feather, 
a magician, and the Manito of Wealth. 

Meshinau'wa, a pipe-bearer. 

Minjekah'wun, Hiawatha! s mittens- 

Minneha'ha, Laughing Water ; a water- 
fall on a ' stream running into the 
Mississippi, beticeen Fort Snelling and 
the Falls of St. Anthony. 

Minneha'ha, Laughing Water ; tcife of 
Hiawatha. 

Minne-wa'wa, a pleasant sound, as of the 
toind in the trees. 

Mishe-Mo'kwa, the Great Bear. 

Mishe-Nah'ma, the Great Sturgeon. 

Miskodeed', the Spring-Beauty, the Clay 
tonia Virginica. 

Monda'min, Indian corn. 

Moon of Bright Nights, April. 

Moon of Leaves, May. 

Moon of Strawberries, June. 

Moon of the Falling Leaves, September, 

Moon of Snow-Shoes, November. 



VOCABULARY. 
Mudjekee'wis, the West-Wind ; father of 

Hiawatha, 
Mudway-aush'ka, sound of waves on a 

shore, 
Mushkoda'sa, the grouse. 
ISah'ma, the sturgeon. 
Nab'ma-WUSkj spearmint. 

Na'gow Wudj'uo, the Sand Dunes of Lake 

Sujn rior. 
Ncc-ba-naw^bai^s, water-spirits, 
Nenemoo'&ha, sweetheart, 
Nepah'win, sleep. 
Noko'mis, a grandmother ; mother <J 

li i nonah. 

. my father. 

Nusb/ka, look I wok! 

Odah'min, the strati 
Okahah'wis, the freshwater hen 

Onit/nu-, the /• 
1 i), a bowl. 

Onawa/, awake. 

Opi/chir, the robin. 

< . Son of the Evening Star. 

Owaistaa, the blue-bird. 

Ovncaeef, unfe ofO 

Ozawa'beek, a round piece qf brass or 

r in the Game of' the Bout. 

Pah-puk-keefaa, the grasshopper. 

Pau-guk, death. 

Pah-Puk-Keefais, the handsome Yenadixxe t 

the Storm Fool. 
Pauwa'ting, Saul Sainte Marie. 
IVln.an, Waiter. 
K nil Van, meat of tht detr or buffalo dried 

and pounded. 

PezhekW, the bison, 
Pishnekuh', the /rant. 

I'oiu'mah, for, after. 

Pugasaing', Game of the Bowl. 
eau'gun, a war-club. 

l'uk-Wudj'ies, little add men of the woods t 
pigmies. 



395 
Sah-sah-jc'-wun, rapids. 
Sah'wa, the perch. 
Segwun', Sp, 
Sha'da, the pelican. 
Sbahbo'min, the gooseberry. 
Shah-shah, long a^u. 
Shaugoda'ya, a coward. 
Shawgashee, the craw-fish. 

nda'see, the South-Wind. 
- haw, the swallow. 
Shesh-ebwug, ducks $ puces in the Game 

of the BowL 
Shin'gebisj/Ae direr, or greebe, 
Showain' oemefehin, pity me. 
Shuh-shuh'gah, the blue heron, 

. !ki, strong-hearted, 
Subbeka'she, the spider, 

\\vs, the mosq 
Totem, family 
. 

. the sun -fish. 

Unktahee', the God of Water. 

\ the rabbit ; the North, 
• W. 

I ../(/. 
Wa'bun An'nung, the Star of the East, 
the Mornine 5 

Wahunu'win. a era <f lamentation. 
Wah-wah-tav'sce, the I're-jly. 
■.ill. 
i on, '/ white skin wrapper. 
Wa'wa, the uibi-. 
■A. a rock. 

Waw-be-wa'wa, the white goose. 
Wawonais'sa, the whippoorwUL 

Way-muk-kwa'na, the caterpillar. 
Wen'digoes, giants. 

Weno'nah, Hiawatha s mother, daughter 
of Nokomis. 

Ycnadi/.'ze, an idler and gambler; an 

Indian dandy, 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 
1858. 



jttftt i\t first. 

. come i gru van cantando lor lai, 
Farendo in aer di se lunga riga. 

Da: 



PROMETHEUS, 

OR THE POETS FORETHOUGHT. 

Of Prometheus, how undaunted 
On Olympus' shining bastions 
His audacious foot he planted, 
Myths are told and songs are chaunted, 
Full of promptings and suggestions. 

Beautiful is the tradition 

Of that flight through heavenly portals, 
The old classic superstition 
Of the theft and the transmission 

Of the fire of the Immortals ! 

First the deed of noble daring, 

Born of heavenward aspiration, 
Then the fire with mortals sharing, 
Then the vulture,— the despairing 
Cry of pain on crags Caucasian. 

All is but a symbol painted 

Of the Poet, Prophet, Seer ; _ 
Only those are crowned and sainted 
Who with grief have been acquainted, 
Making nations nobler, freer. 



PROMETHEUS; OR, THE POETS FORETHOUGHT. 39? 
In their feverish exultations, 

In their triumph and their yearning, 
In their passionate pulsations. 
In their words among the nations, 
The Promethean tire is burning. 

Shall it, then, be unavailing, 

All this toil tor human culture ; 
Through the cloud-rack, dark and trailing, 
they Bee above them Bailing 

O'er life's barren Crags the vulture? 
Such a fate as this was Danie's, 

By defeat and exile maddened ; 

Thus urn Milton and Cervantes, 

Nature's priests and Corybantes, 
By affliction touched and saddened. 

But 1 so transcendent 

'1 hal around their memories cluster, 

And, on all their steps attendant, 

their darkened I ndent 

With such gleams of inward lustre! 

All the melodies mysterious, 
Through the dreary darkness chauntedj 

Thoughts in attitudes imperious, 
\ soft, and deep, and serious, 

Words that whispered, songs that haunted 

All the soul in rapt suspeni 

All the quivering, palpitating- 
Chords of life in utmost tension, 
With the fervour of invention, 

With the rapture of creating! 

Ah, Prometheus! heaven-scaling! 

In such hours of exultation 
Even the faintest heart, unquailing, 
Might behold the vulture sailing 

Round the cloudy crags Caucasian ! 

Though to all there is not given 

Strength for such sublime endeavour, 

Thus to scale the walls of heaven, 

And to leaven with fiery leaven 
All the hearts of men for ever , 



398 } BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted 

Honour and believe the presage, 
Hold aloft their torches lighted, 
Gleaming through the realms benighted, 
As they onward bear the message ! 



THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 

Saint Augustine ! well hast thou said, 
That of our vices we can frame 

A ladder, if we will but tread 
Beneath our feet each deed of shame ! 

All common things, each day's events, 
That with the hour begin and end, 

Our pleasures and our discontents, 

Are rounds by which we may ascend. 

The low desire, the base design, 
That makes another's virtues less,- 

The revel of the ruddy wine, 
And all occasions of excess • 

The longing for ignoble things ; 

The strife for triumph more than truth ; 
The hardening of the heart, that brings 

Irreverence for the dreams of youth j 

All thoughts of ill ; all evil deeds, 

That have their root in thoughts of ill ; 

Whatever hinders or impedes 
The action of the nobler will; — 

All these must first be trampled down 
Beneath our feet, if we would gain 

In the bright fields of fair renown 
The right of eminent domain. 

We have not wings, we cannot soar ; 

But we have feet to scale and climb 
By slow degrees, by more and more, 

The cloudy summits of our time. 



THE PHANTOM SHIP. 

The mighty pyramids of stone 

That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, 

When nearer seen, and better known, 
Are but gigantic flight* ot stairs. 

The distant mountains, that uprear 
Their solid bastions to the skies. 

Air crossed by pathways, that appear 
As we to higher levels rise. 

The heights by great men reached and kept 
Wen- not attained by sudden flight, 

Hut they, while their companions slept, 
Were toiling upward in the night. 

Standing on what too long we bore 

With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, 
We may discern — unseen before — 
th to higher destinies. 

Nor deem the irrevocable Past, 
As wholly wasted, wholly vain, 

If, rising on its wrecks, ai last 

To something nobler we attain. 



399 



THE 1'il \MO.M SHIP. 

In Mather's Magnalia Christi, 

Of the old colonial time, 
Ma\ be found in prose the legend 

That is here set down in rhyme. 

A ship sailed from New Haven, 
And the keen and frosty airs, 

That tilled her sails at parting, 

Were heavy with good men's prayers. 

" O Lord ! if it be thy pleasure" — 
Thus prayed the old divine — 

"To bury our friends in the ocean, 
Take them, for they are thine!" 



400 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

But Master Lamberton muttered, 

And under his breath said he, 
" This ship is so crank and walty 

I fear our grave she will be !" 

And the ships that came from England, 
When the winter months were gone, 

Brought no tidings of this vessel, 
Nor of Master Lamberton. 

This put the people to praying 

That the Lord would let chem hear 

What in His greater wisdom 

He had done with friends so dear. 

And at last their prayers were answered : — - 

It was in the month of June, 
An hour before the sunset 

Of a windy afternoon, 

When, steadily steering landward, 

A ship was seen below, 
And they knew it was Lamberton, Master, 

Who sailed so long ago. 

On she came, with a cloud of canvas, 
Right against the wind that blew, 

L T ntil the eye could distinguish 
The faces of the crew. 

Then fell her straining topmasts, 
Hanging tangled in the shrouds, 

And her sails were loosened and lifted, 
And blown away like clouds. 

And the masts, with all their rigging, 

Fell slowly, one by one, 
And the hulk dilated and vanished, 

As a sea-mist in the sun ! 

And the people who saw this marvel 

Each said unto his friend, 
That this was the mould of their vessel, 

And thus her tragic end. 



THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. 401 

And the pastor of the village 

Gave thanks to God in prayer, 
That, to quiet their troubled spirits, 

He had sent this Ship oi A 



THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. 

A mist was driving down the British Channel, 
The day was just begun, 

And through the window-panes, on iloor and panel, 
Streamed the red autumn sun. 

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon, 

And the while sails of sill] 
And, from tin- frowning rampart, the black cannon 

Hailed it with feverish lips. 

Sandwich ami Romney, Hastings, I lithe, and Dover, 

W< re all alert that d 
To mt the French war-steamers speeding 01 

W hen the log cleared away. 

Sullen and silent, and like COUchanl lions, 

Their cannon through the- I 
li< Iding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance, 

The sea-coast opj 

And now they roared at dmm-bcat from their stations 

On every citadel ; 
Each answering each, with morning salutations, 

That all was well. 

And down the coast, all taking up the burd 

Replied the distant forts, 
As if to summon from his sleep the Warden 

And Lord of the Cinque Ports. 

Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azm 

No drum -be at from the wall. 
No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure 

Awaken with its call ! 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 
No more, surveying with an eye impartial 

The long line of the coast, 
Shall the gaunt hgure of the old Field-Marshal 

Be seen upon his post ! 

For in the night, unseen, a single warrior, 

In sombre harness mailed, 
Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, 

The rampart wall has scaled. 

He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, 

The dark and silent room, 
And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, 

The silence and the gloom. 

He did not pause to parley or dissemble, 

But smote the Warden hoar; 
Ah ! what a blow ! that made all England tremble 

And groan from shore to shore. 

Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, 

The sun rose bright o'erhead : 
Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated 

That a great man was dead. 



HAUNTED HOUSES. 

All houses wherein men have lived and died 
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors 

The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, 
With feet that make no sound upon the floors. 

We meet them at the door-way, on the stair, 
Along the passages they come and go, 

Impalpable impressions on the air, 

A sense of something moving to and fro. 

There are more guests at table than the hosts • 

Invited ; the illuminated hall 
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, 

As silent as the pictures on the wall. 



IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE. 4°3 

The stranger at my fireside cannot 

The forms 1 see, nor hear the sounds I hear j 
He but pereeivcs what is ; while unto me 
All thai has been Is visible and elear. 

have v.o title-deeds to house or lands; 
Owners and occupants ot earlier dates 
From otten stretch their dusty hands, 

And hold in mortmain still their old estates. 

The spirit-world around this world ot g< 
Floats like an atmosphere., and everywhere 

V. .iti-, through these earthly mists and \apuurs dense 
A vital breath ot more ethereal air. 

Our little lives are kept in equipoi 

By opposite an 
The struggle ot ihe instinct that enjoys. 

And tile iiistinei thai aspires. 

perturbatii p< tual jar 

Oi earthly wants and aspirations high, 
Come from the influence of an unseen star, 
An undiscovered planet in our sky. 

And as the moon from BOD ' of cloud 

Throw. oVr the sea a floating bridge of light, 

mbling planks our fancies crowd 
Into the realm ot mystery and night, — 

So from the world of spirits there descends 

A bridge ot' light, connecting it with this, 
O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends, 

Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss. 



IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE. 

In the village churchyard she lies, 
Dust is in her beautiful eyes, 

No more she breathes, nor feels, nor stirs; 
At her feet and at her head 
Lies a slave to attend the dead, 

But their dust is white as hers. 



4 o| BIRDS OF PASSAGE, 

Was she a lady of high degree, 
So much in love with the vanity 

And foolish pomp of this world of ours 
Or was it Christian charity, 
And lowliness and humility, 

The richest and rarest of all dowers 1 

Who shall tell us ? No one speaks -, 
No colour shoots into those cheeks, 

Either of anger or of pride, 
At the rude question we have asked j 
Nor will the mystery be unmasked 

By those who are sleeping at her side. 

Hereafter ? — And do you think to look 
On the terrible pages of that Book 

To find her failings, faults, and errors ? 
Ah, you will then have other cares, 
In your own shortcomings and despairs, 

In your own secret sins and terrors ! 



THE EMPEROR'S EIRD'S-NEST. 

Once the Emperor Charles of Spain 
With his swarthy, grave commanders, 

I forget in what campaign, 

Long besieged, in mud and rain, 
Some old frontier town of Flanders. 

Up and down the dreary camp, 
In great boots of Spanish leather, 

Striding with a measured tramp, 

These Hidalgos, dull and damp, 

Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather, 

Thus as to and fro they went, 
Over upland and through hollow, 

Giving their impatience vent, 

Perched upon the Emperor's tent, 
In her nest, they spied a swallow. 



THE EMPEROR'S BIRUS-NEST. 405 

Yes, it was a swallow's nest, 

Built of clay and hair of' horses, 
Mane or tail, or dragoon's crest, 
Found on hedge-rows east and west, 

Alter skirmish of ihe fOTO 

Then an old Hidalgo said, 
As he twirled bis grey mustachio, 

" Sure this swallow overhead 

Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed, 
And the Emperor but a Macho!"* 

Hearing his imperial name 

Coupled with those words of malice, 
Hah" in anger, halt in shame, 
Forth tin- great campaigner came 

Slowly trom his canvas palace. 

no hand the bird molest, " 

! he solemnly, " nor hurt her!" 

Adding then, b) way of j< si, 
" Grolondrinal is my guest, 

"lis the wife of some deserter!" 

Swift as bow-string speeds a shaft, 

Through the camp was spread the rumour, 
And the soldiers, as they quaffed 

Flemish beer at dinner, laughed 

At 1 lie Emperor's pleasant humour. 

So unarmed ami unafraid 

Sal the swallow still and brooded, 
Till the constant cannonade 

Through the walls a breach had made, 
And the siege was thus concluded. 

Then the army, elsewhere bent, 

Struck its tents as if disbanding, 
Only not the Emperor's tent, 
For he ordered, ere he went, 

Very curtly, " Leave it standing!" 



* Macho is Spanish for mule. 
t Golondrino. A swallow is also a cant word for a deserter. 

o 



4 o6 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

So it stood there all alone, 

Loosely flapping, torn and tattered, 
Till the brood was fledged and flown, 
Singing o'er those walls of stone 

Which the cannon-shot had shattered. 



THE TWO ANGELS. 

Two angels, one of Life and one of Death, 
Passed o'er our village as the morning broke j 

The dawn was on their faces, and beneath, 

The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke. 

Their attitude and aspect were the same, 

Alike their features and their robes of white ; 

But one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame, 
And one with asphodels, like flakes of light. 

I saw them pause on their celestial way ; " 

Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed, 

" Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray 
The place where thy beloved are at rest!" 

And he who wore the crown of asphodels, 
Descending, at my door began to knock, 

And my soul sank within me, as in wells 

The waters sink before an earthquake's shock. 

I recognised the nameless agony, 

The terror and the tremor and the pain, 

That oft before had rilled or haunted me, 

And now returned with threefold strength again. 

The door I opened to my heavenly guest, 

And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice ; 

And, knowing whatsoe'er he sent was best, 
Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice. 

Then with a smile, that filled the house with light, 
"My errand is not Death, but Life," he said; 

And, ere I answered, passing out of sight, 
On his celestial embassy he sped. 



DAYLIGHT AND MOONLIGHT. 407 

'Twas at thy dcor, O friend ! and not at mine, 

The angel with the amaranthine wreath, 
Pausing, descended, and with voice divine, 

Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. 

Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, 

A shadow on those features, fair and thin ; 
And softly, from that boshed and darkened room, 

Two angels issued, where but one went in. 

All is of God ! If he hut wave his hand, 

The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud, 

Till, with a Minle of light on sea and land, 

Lo ! he looks back from the departing cloud. 

Angela of Life and Death alike are his; 

Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er; 

Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this, 

Against his messengers to shut the door; 



DAYLIGHT AM) MOONLIGHT. 

In broad daylight, and at noon, 
Yesterday I sav< the moon 
Sailing high, but faint and white, 
As a schoolboy's paper kite. 

In broad daylight yesterday, 
I read a Port's nivsiie lay ; 
And it seemed to me at most 
As a phantom, or a ghost. 

But at length the feverish day 
Like a passion died away. 
And the night, serene and still, 
Fell on village, vale, and hill. 

Then the moon, in all her pride, 
Like a spirit glorified, 
Filled and overflowed the night 
With revelations of her light. 



4 o8 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

And the Poet's song again 
Passed like music through my brain 5 
Night interpreted to me 
All its grace and mystery. 



THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT NEWPORT. 

How strange it seems ! These Hebrews in their graves, 
Close by the street of this fair seaport town, 

Silent beside the never-silent waves, 

At rest in all this moving up and down ! 

The trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep 
Wave their broad curtains in the south wind's breath, 

While underneath such leafy tents they keep 
The long mysterious Exodus of Death. 

And these sepulchral stones, so old and brown, 
That pave with level flags their burial-place, 

Seem like the tablets of the Law, thrown down 
And broken by Moses at the mountain's base. 

The very names recorded here are strange, 
Of foreign accent, and of different climes j 

Alvares and Rivera interchange 

With Abraham and Jacob of old times. 

"Blessed be God ! for he created Death !" 

The mourner said, " and Death is rest and peace ;" 

Then added, in the certainty of faith, 

"And giveth Life that never more shall cease." 

Closed are the portals of their Synagogue, 
No Psalms of David now the silence break, 

No Rabbi read? tb^. orient Decalogue 
In the grand dialect the Prophets spake. 

Gone are the living, but the dead remain, 
And not neglected ; for a hand unseen, 
cattering its bounty, like a summer-rain, 
Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green. 



THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT NEWPORT. 409 

How came they here r What burst of Christian hate, 

What persecution, merciless and blind, 
Drove o'er the sea — that desert desolate— 

'1 hese Ishmaels and Hagars of mankind ? 

They lived in narrow streets and lanes obscure, 

Ghetto and Judenstrass, in mirk and mire ; 
Taught in the school of patience to endure 

The hie of anguish and the death ot lire. 

All their lives long, with the unleavened bread 
And bitter herbs of exile and its fears, 

The wasting famine of the heart they ltd, 

And flaked its thirst with Marah of their tears. 

Anathema maranatha ! was the cry 

That rang from town to town, from street to street; 
At every gate the accursed Mordecai 

Was mocked and jeered, and spurned by Christian feet. 

Pride and humiliation hand in hand 

Walked with tin.ni through the world where'er they went; 
Trampled ami beaten were they as the sand, 

And yet unshaken as the continent. 

For in the background figures v;iL r iu- and vast 

Of patriarchs and of prophets rose sublime, 

And all the great traditions of the l'a^t 
They saw reflected in the coming time. 

And thus for ever with reverted look 

The mystic volume of the world they read, 
Spelling it backward, like a Hebrew book, 

Till life became a Legend of the Dead. 

But ah ! what once has been shall be no more! 

The groaning earth in travail and in pain 
Brings forth its races, but does not restore, 

And the dead nations never rise again. 



4.10 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

OLIVER BASSELIN. 

In the Valley of the Vire 

Still is seen an ancient mill, 
With its gables quaint and queer, 
And beneath the window-sill, 
On the stone, 
These words alone : 
" Oliver Basselin lived here.'* 

Far above it, on the steep, 

Ruined stands the old Chateau ; 
Nothing but the donjon-keep 
Left for shelter or for show. 
Its vacant eyes 
Stare at the skies, 
Stare at the Valley green and deep. 

Once a convent, old and brown, 

Looked, but ah ! it looks no more, 
From the neighbouring hill-side down 
On the rushing and the roar 
Of the stream 
Whose sunny gleam 
Cheers the little Norman town. 

In that darksome mill of stone, 
To the water's dash and din, 
Careless, humble, and unknown, 
Sang the poet Basselin 
Songs that fill 
That ancient mill 
With a splendour of its own. 

Never feeling of unrest 

Broke the pleasant dream he dreamed; 
Only made to be his nest, 
All the lovely valley seemed ; 
No desire 
Of soaring higher 
Stirred or fluttered in his breast. 

True, his songs were not divine; 
Were not songs of that high art, 



OLIVER BASSELIN. 411 

Which, as winds do in the pine, 
Find an answer in each heart j 
But the mirth 
Of this green earth 
Laughed and revelled in his line. 

From the alehouse and the inn, 

Opening on the narrow street, 
Came the Loud, convivial din, 
Singing and applause of feet, 
The laughing lays 
That in those days 
Sang the poet Basselin. 

In the castle, cased in steel, 

Knights, who fought at Agincourt, 
Watched and waited, ^pur on heel; 
But the poet Bang for sport 
- that rang 
Another clang, 
Songs that lowlier hearts could feel. 

In the convent, clad in grey, 
S.ii the monks in lonely cells, 

Paced the cloisters, knelt to pray, 

And the poet heard their bells j 
Hut his rh\ UK's 
Found other chimes, 
Nearer to the earth than they. 

Gone are all the barons bold, 

Gone are all the knights and squires, 
Gone the abbot stern and cold, 
And the brotherhood of friars ; 
Not a name 
Remains to fame. 
From those mouldering days of old? 

But the poet's memory here 

Of the landscape makes a part , 
Like the river, swift and clear, 

Flows his song through many a heart; 
Haunting still 
That ancient mill, 
In the Valley of the Vire. 



412 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

VICTOR GALBRAITH. 

Undbr the walls of Monterey 

At daybreak the bugles began to play, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
In the mist of the morning damp and grey, 
These were the words they seemed to say : 

" Come forth to thy death, 

Victor Galbraith!" 

Forth he came, with a martial tread 5 
Firm was his step, erect his head; 

Victor Galbraith, 
He who so well the bugle played, 
Could not mistake the words it said : 

" Come forth to thy death, 

Victor Galbraith !" 

He looked at the earth, he looked at the sky, 
He looked at the files of musketry, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
And he said, with a steady voice and eye, 
i{ Take good aim; I am ready to die !" 

Thus challenges death 

Victor Galbraith. 

Twelve fiery tongues flashed straight and red, 
Six leaden balls on their errand sped ; 

Victor Galbraith 
Falls to the ground, but he is not dead ; 
His name was not stamped on those balls of lead 

And they only scath 

Victor Galbraith. 

Three balls are in his breast and brain, 
But he rises out of the dust again, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
The water he drinks has a bloody stain ; 
" O kill me, and put me out of my pain !'* 

In his agony prayeth 

Victor Galbraith. 

Forth dart once more those tongues of name, 
And the bugler has died a death of shame, 
Victor Galbraith ! 



MY LOST YOUTH. 413 

His soul has gone back to whence it came* ( 
And no one answers to the name, 

When the Sergeant saith, 

"Victor Galbraith !" 

Under the walls of Monterey 
By night a bugle is heard to play, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
Through the mist of the valley damp and grey 
The sentinels hear the sound, and say, 

" That i-, tin- wraith 

Of Victor Galbraith!" 



MY LOST YOUTH. 

Often I think of the beautiful town 

That is stated by the - 
Often in thought go up and down 
The pleasant streets of that dear old town, 
And my youth comes back to me. 
And a verse of a Lapland song 
Is haunting my memory still: 

"A DOy*8 will h the viud's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts, 

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, 

And catch, in sudden gleams, 
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, 
And islands that were the Hesperides 
Of all my boyish dreams. 

Ami the burden of that old song, 
It murmurs and whispers still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. 

I remember the black wharves and the slips, 

And the sea-tides tossing free ; 
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, 
And the beauty and mystery of the ships, 

And the magic of the sea. 



414 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

And the voice of that wayward song 
Is singing and saying still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the bulwarks by the shore, 

And the fort upon the hill ; 
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar, 
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, 
And the bugle wild and shrill. 
And the music of that old song 
Throbs in my memory still : 
** A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts'." 

I remember the sea-fight far away, 
How it thundered o'er the tide ! 
And the dead captains, as they lay 
In their graves o'erlooking the tranquil bay, 
Where they in battle died. 

And the sound of that mournful song 
Goes through me with a thrill : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I can see the breezy dome of groves, 
The shadows of Deering's Woods ; 
And the friendships old and the early loves 
Come back with a sabbath sound, as of doves 
In quiet neighbourhoods. 

And the verse of that sweet old song, 
It nutters and murmurs still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart 

Across the schoolboy's brain ; 
The song and the silence in the heart, 
That in part are prophecies, and in part 
Are longings wild and vain. 

And the voice of that fitful song 
Sings on, and is never still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 



THE ROPEWALK. 4 ^ 

There are things of which I may not speak ; 

There are dreams that cannot die ; 
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, 
And bring a pallor into the check, 
And a mist before the eye. 

And the words of that fatal song 
Come over me like a chill : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

Strange to me now are the forms I meet 

When I visit the dear old town; 
But the native air is pure and sweet, 
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street. 
As they balance up and down, 
Arc singing the beautiful song, 
Are sighing and whispering still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

And Deering's Woods arc- fresh and fair, 
And with joy that is almost pain 

My bearl goes back to wander there, 

And among the dreams of the days that were, 
I find my losl youth again. 

And the Btrange and beautiful song, 
The groves are repeating it still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 



THE ROPEWALK. 

In that building, long and low, 
With its windows all a-row, 

Like the port-holes of a hulk, 
Human spiders spin and spin, 
Backward down their threads so thin, 

Dropping, each a hempen bulk. 

At the end, an open door; 
Squares of sunshine on the floor 
Light the long and dusky lane ; 



4 i6 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

And the whirring of a wheel, 
Dull and drowsy, makes me feel 
All its spokes are in my brain. 

As the spinners to the end 
Downward go and reascend, 

Gleam the long threads in the sun ; 
While within this brain of mine 
Cobwebs brighter and more fine 

By the busy wheel are spun. 

Two fair maidens in a swing, 
Like white doves upon the wing, 

First before my vision pass ; 
Laughing, as their gentle hands 
Closely clasp the twisted strands, 

At their shadow on the grass. 

Then a booth of mountebanks, 
With its smell of tan and planks, 

And a girl poised high in air 
On a cord, in spangled dress, 
With a faded loveliness, 

And a weary look of care. 

Then a homestead among farms, 
And a woman with bare arms 

Drawing water from a well ; 
As the bucket mounts apace, 
With it mounts her own fair face, 

As at some magician's spell. 

Then an old man in a tower, 
Ringing loud the noontide hour, 

While the rope coils round and round, 
Like a serpent at his feet, 
And again, in swift retreat, 

Nearly lifts him from the ground. 

Then within a prison-yard, 
Faces fixed, and stern, and hard, 

Laughter and indecent mirth; 
Ah ! it is the gallows-tree ; 
Breath of Christian charity, 

Blow, and sweep it from the earth i 



THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE. 417 

Then a schoolboy, with his kite 
Gleaming in a sky of light, 

And an eager, upward look ; 
Steeds pursued through lane and field j 
Fowlers with their snares concealed -, 

And an angler by a brook. 

Ships rejoicing in the breeze, 
Wrecks thai float o*er unknown seas, 

Anchors dragged through faithless sandj 
Sea-fog drifting overhead, 
And, with lessening line and lead, 

Sailors feeling for the land. 

All these scenes do I behold, 

These, and many left untold, 

In that building long and low ; 
While the wheel goes round and round 
With a drowsy, dreamy sound, 

And the spinners backward go. 



THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE. 

Leafless are the trees; their purple branches 
Spread themselves abroad, like reefs of coral, 
Rising Bilent 

In the Red Sea of the Winter sunset. 

From the hundred chimneys of the village, 
Like the Aireet in the Arabian story, 

Smoky columns 
Tower aloft into the air of amber. 

At the window winks the flickering fire-light ; 
Here and there the lamps of evening glimmer, 

Social watch-fires 
Answering one another through the darkness. 

On the hearth the lighted logs are glowing, 
And like Ariel in the cloven pine-tree 

For its freedom 
Groans and sighs the air imprisoned in them. 



4 i8 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

By the fireside there are old men seated, 
Seeing ruined cities in the ashes, 

Asking sadly 
Of the Past what it can ne*er restore them. 

By the fireside there are youthful dreamers, 
Building castles fair, with stately stairways, 

Asking blindly 
Of the Future what it cannot give them. 

By the fireside tragedies are acted 

In whose scenes appear two actors only, 

Wife and husband, 
And above them God the sole spectator. 

By the fireside there are peace and comfort, 
Wives and children, with fair, thoughtful faces, 

Waiting, watching 
For a well-known footstep in the passage. 

Each man's chimney is his Golden Mile-stone ; 
Is the central point from which he measures 

Every distance 
Through the gateways of the world around him. 

In his farthest wanderings still he sees it ; 

Hears the talking flame, the answering night-wind, 

As he heard them 
When he sat with those who were, but are not. 

Happy he whom neither wealth nor fashion, 
Nor the march of the encroaching city, 

Drives an exile 
From the hearth of his ancestral homestead. 

We may build more splendid habitations, 

Fill our rooms with paintings and with sculptures, 

But we cannot 
Buy with gold the old associations ! 



CATAWBA WINE. 

This song of mine 
Is a Song of the Vine, 
To be sung by the glowing embers 



CATAWBA WINE. 419 

Of wayside inns, 
When ths rain begins 
To darken the drear Novembers. 

It is not a song 

Of the Scupperaong, 

From warm Carolinian valleys, 
Nor the Isabel 
And the Muscade] 

That bask in our garden alleys. 

Nor thfl red Mustang, 
Whose clusters hang 
O'er the waves of the Colorado, 
And the fiery flood 

Ot w hose purple blood 

Has a dash of Spanish bravado. 

For richest and best 
la the wine of the v« 
That grows by the Beautiful River j 
Whose sweet perfume 

Fills all the room 

With a benison on the 

And as hollow trees 

Are the haunts of I" 
Forever going and coming; 

So this crystal hive 

Is all alive 
With a swarming and buzzing and humming. 

Very good in its way 

Is the Verzenav, 
Or the Sillery soft and creamy; 

But Catawba wine 

Has a taste more divine, 
More dulcet, delicious, and dreamy. 

There grows no vine 

By the haunted Rhine, 
By Danube or Guadalquivir, 

Nor on island or cape, 

That bears such a grape 
As grows by the Beautiful River. 



420 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

Drugged is their juice 

For foreign use, 
When shipped o'er the reeling Atlantic, 

To rack our brains 

With the fever pains. 
That have driven the Old World frantic 

To the sewers and sinks 

With all such drinks, 
And after them tumble the mixer ; 

For a poison malign 

Is such Borgia wine, 
Or at best but a Devil's Elixir. 

While pure as a spring 

Is the wine I sing, 
And to praise k, one needs but name it 3 

For Catawba wine 

Has need of no sign, 
No tavern-bush to proclaim it. 

And this Song of the Vine, 

This greeting of mine, 
The winds and the birds shall deliver 

To the Queen of the West, 

In her garlands dressed, 
On the banks of the Beautiful River. 



SANTA FILOMENA. 

Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, 
Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, 

Our hearts, in glad surprise, 

To higher levels rise. 

The tidal wave of deeper souls 
Into our inmost being rolls, 

And lifts us unawares 

Out of all meaner cares. 

Honour to those whose words or deeds 
Thus help us in our daily needs, 
And by their overflow 
Raise us from what is low ! 



SANTA FILOMENA. 421 

Thus thought I, as by night I read 
Of the great army of the dead. 

The trenches cold and damp, 

The starved and frozen camp, — 

The wounded from the battle-plain, 
In dreary hospitals of pain, 

The cheerless corridors, 

The cold and stony floors. 

Lo ! in that house of misery 
A lady with a lamp 1 see 

Pass through the glimmering gloom, 

And flit from room to room. 

And slow, as in a dream of bliss, 
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss 
1 [er shadow, as it falls 

Upon the darkening walls. 

As if a door in heaven should be 
Opened and then closed suddenly, 
The \ ision came and went, 

The light shone and was spent. 

On England's annals, through the lonjj 
Hereafter <<t her speech and song, 

That light its rays shall cast 
From portals of the past. 

A Lady with a Lamp shall stand 
In the great history of the land, 

A noble type of good, 

Heroic womanhood. 

Nor even shall be wanting here 
The palm, the lily, and the spear, 

The symbols that of yore 

Saint Filomena bore. 



4 2a BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE. 

A LEAF FROM KING ALFRED'S OROSIUS. 

Othere, the old sea-captain, 

Who dwelt in Helgoland, 
To King Alfred, the Lover of Truth, 
Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth, 

Which he held in his brown right hand. 

His figure was tall and stately, 
Like a boy's his eye appeared ; 

His hair was yellow as hay, 

But threads of a silvery grey 
Gleamed in his tawny beard. 

Hearty and hale was Othere, 

His cheek had the colour of oak 5 

With a kind of laugh in his speech, 

Like the sea-tide on a beach, 
As unto the king he spoke. 

And Alfred, King of the Saxons, 

Had a book upon his knees, 
And wrote down the wondrous tale 
Of him who was first to sail 

Into the Arctic seas. 

" So far I live to the northward, 

No man lives north of me ; 
To the east are wild mountain-chains, 
And beyond them meres and plains j 

To the westward all is sea. 

" So far I live to the northward, 

From the harbour of Skeringes-hale, 

If you only sailed by day, 

With a fair wind all the way, 

More than a month would you sail. 

" I own six hundred reindeer, 
With sheep and swine beside j 

I have tribute from the Finns, 

^Whalebone and reindeer-skins, 

And ropes of walrus-hide. 



THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE. 413 

" I ploughed the land with horses, 

But my heart was ill at ease, 
For the old seafaring men 
Came to me now and then, 

With their sagas of the seas j— 

"Of Iceland and ol Greenland, 

And the stormy Hebrides, 
And the undiscovered deep; — 

I could not eat nor sleep 
For thinking of those seas. 

"To the northward stretched the desert, 

1 [ow far I fain would know • 
So at last 1 sallied forth, 
And three days sailed due north, 

As far as the whale-ships go. 

" To the west of me was the ocean, 
To the righl the desolate shore, 

But I did not slacken sail 

For the walrus or the whale, 
Till alter three da) B more. 

"The days grew longer and longer, 

Till the) Inn aim- as one, 
And southward through the haze 

I saw the sullen blaze 

( )t the red midnight sun. 

" Ami then uprose before me, 

Upon the water's edge, 
The huge ami haggard shape 
Of that unknown North Cape, 

Whose form is like a wedge. 

" The sea was rough and stormy, 
The tempest how led and wailed, 

And the sea fog, like a ghost, 
Haunted thai dreary coast, 
But onward still I sailed. 

" Four days I steered to eastward, 

Four days without a night : 
Round in a fiery ring 
Went the great sun, O King, 

With red and lurid light." 



424 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

Here Alfred, King of the Saxons, 

Ceased writing for a while ; 
And raised his eyes from his book, 
With a strange and puzzled look, 

And an incredulous smile. 

But O there, the old sea-captain, 

He neither paused nor stirred, 

Till the King listened, and then 

Once more took up his pen, 

And wrote down every word. 

"And now the land," said Othere, 

" Bent southward suddenly, 
And I followed the curving shore, 
And ever southward bore 
Into a nameless sea. 

" And there we hunted the walrus, 
The narwhale, and the seal ; 

Ha ! 'twas a noble game ! 

And like the lightning's flame 
Flew our harpoons of steel. 

" There were six of us all together, 

Norsemen of Helgoland $ 
In two days and no more 
We killed of them threescore, 

And dragged them to the strand P 

Here Alfred, the Truth-Teller, 

Suddenly closed his book, 
And lifted his blue eyes, 
With doubt and strange surmise 
Depicted in their look. 

And Othere the old sea-captain 
Stared at him wild and weird, 
Then smiled, till his shining teeth 
Gleamed white from underneath 
His tawny, quivering beard. 

And to the King of the Saxons, 
In witness ot the truth, 

Raising his noble head, 

He stretched his brown hand, and said, 
"Behold this walrus-tooth !" 



THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDA V OF ACASSIZ, 425 

DAYBREAK. 

A wind came up out of the sea, 

And said, " O mists, make room for me." 

It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, 
Ye mariners, the night is gone." 

And hurried landward lar away, 
Crying, " Awake ! it is the day." 

It said unto the forest, "Shout! 
Hang all your leafy banners out !" 

It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, 

And said, " O bird, awake and sing." 

And (j'er the farms, '•<> chanticleer, 

Your clarion blow- the day is near." 

It whispered to the fields of corn, 

" Bow down, ami had the coming mom." 

It shouted through the belfry-tower, 
" Awake, ( ) bell ! pnx laim the hour." 

It crossed the churchyard with a - 
And said, " Nol yet ! in quiet lie." 



THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ. 

Mcv 28, 1857. 

It was titty yean 

In the pleasant month of May, 
In the beautiful Fays de Yaud, 

A child in its cradle lay. 

And Nature, the old mirse, took 
The child upon her knee, 

Saving: " Here is a story-book 
Thy Father has written for thee." 

" Come, wander with me," she said, 

" Into regions yet untrod ; 
And read what is still unread 

In the manuscripts of God." 



426 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

And he wandered away and away 
With Nature, the dear old nurse, 

Who sang to him night and day 
The rhymes of the universe. 

And whenever the way seemed long, . 

Or his heart began to fail, 
She would sing a more wonderful song, 

Or tell a more marvellous tale. 

So she keeps him still a child, 
And will not let him go, 

Though at times his heart beats wild 
For the beautiful Pays de Vaud $ 

Though at times he hears in his dreams 
The Ranz des Vaches of old, 

And the rush of mountain streams 
From glaciers clear and cold 5 

And the mother at home says, " Hark ! 

For his voice I listen and yearn j 
It is growing late and dark, 

And my boy does not return !" 



CHILDREN. 

Come to me, O ye children ! 

For I hear you at your play, 
And the questions that perplexed me 

Have vanished quite away. 

Ye open the eastern windows, 

That look towards the sun, 
Where thoughts are singing swallows, 

And the brooks of morning run. 

In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, 
In your thoughts the brooklet's flow, 

But in mine is the wind of Autumn 
And the first fall of the snow. 



SANDALPHON. 
Ah ! what would the world be to us, 

If the children were no more ? 
We should dread the desert behind us 

Worse than the dark before. 

What the leaves are to the forest, 

With light and air tor food, 
Ere their sweet and tender 1 . 

Have been hardened into wood, — 

That to the world are children ; 

Through them it feels the glow 
Of a brighter and sunnier climate 

Than reaches the trunks below. 

Come to me, ( ) \e children ! 

And whisper in my ear 
What the birds and the winds are singing 
In your sunny atmosphere. 

For what are all our contrivings, 

And the wisdom bf our t> 
When compared with jroui 

And the gladness of your looks ? 

Ye are better than all the ballads 
Thai ever were song OI -aid ; 

For ye are living po© 

And all the rest are dead. 



427 



SANDALPHON. 

Have you read in the Talmud of old, 
An the Legends the Rabbins have told 

Of the limitless realms of the air, — 
Have you read it, — the marvellous story 
Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory, 

Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer ? 

How, erect, at the outermost gates 
Of the City Celestial he waits, 

With his feet on the ladder of light, 
That, crowded with angels unnumbered, 
By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered 

Alone in the desert at night ? 



428 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

The Angels of Wind and of Fire 
Chant only one hymn,, and expire 

With the song's irresistible stress ; 
Expire in their rapture and wonder, 
As harp-strings are broken asunder 

By music they throb to express. 

But serene in the rapturous throng, 
Unmoved by the rush of the song, 

With eyes unimpassioned and slow, 
Among the dead angels, the deathless 
Sandalphon stands listening breathless 

To sounds that ascend from below;— 

From the spirits on earth that adore, 
From the souls that entreat and implore 

In the fervour and passion of prayer 5 
From the hearts that are broken with losses. 
And weary with dragging the crosses 

Too heavy for mortals to bear. 

And he gathers the prayers as he stands, 
And they change into flowers in his hands, 

Into garlands of purple and red ; 
And beneath the great arch of the portal, 
Through the streets of the City Immortal 

Is wafted the fragrance they shed. 

It is but a legend, I know, — 
A fable, a phantom, a show, 

Of the ancient Rabbinical lore ; 
Yet the old mediaeval tradition, 
The beautiful, strange superstition, 

But haunts me and holds me the more, 

When I look from my window at night, 
And the welkin above is all white, 

All throbbing and panting with stars, 
Among them majestic is standing 
Sandalphon the angel, expanding 

His pinions in nebulous bars. 

And the legend, I feel, is a part 
Of the hunger and thirst of the heart, 
The frenzy and fire of the brain, 



EPIMETHEUS; OR, THE POETS AFTERTHOUGHT. 429 
That grasp* at the fruitage forbidden; 
The golden pomegranates of Eden, ■ 
To quiet its fever and pain. 



EPIMETHEUS-, 

OR, THE POET'S AFTERTHOUGHT. 

Have I dreamed? or was it real, 

Vv bat I saw a^ in a vision, 
Winn to marches hymeneal 
In the land of the Ideal 

.Moved my thought o'er Fields Blysian ? 

What ! are these the guests whose glances 

ned like sunshine gleaming round me ? 
These the wild, bewildering fancies, 
with dithyrambic dan 
As with magic circles, bound me? 

Ah ! how cold are their ear 

Pallid cheeks, and ha rns ! 

Spectral gleam their snow-white dr 

And from loose, dishevelled b 
Fall the hyacinthine blossoms! 

() my songs! whose winsome measures 
Filled my he-art with secret rapture! 
Children of my golden leisures! 
Must even your delights and pleasures 

Fade and perish with the capture \ 

Fair they seemed, those songs sonorous 

When they came to me unbidden; 
Voices single, and in chorus, 
Like the wild birds singing o'er us 
In the dark of branches hidden. 

Disenchantment ! Disillusion ! 

Must each noble aspiration 
Come at last to this conclusion, 
Jarring discord, wild confusion, 

Lassitude, renunciation? 



43 o BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

Not with steeper fall nor faster, 

From the sun's serene dominions, 
Not through brighter realms nor vaster, 
In swift ruin and disaster, 

Icarus fell with shattered pinions ! 

Sweet Pandora ! dear Pandora ! 

Why did mighty Jove create thee 
Coy as Thetis, fair as Flora, 
Beautiful as young Aurora, 

If to win thee is to hate thee ? 

No, not hate thee ! for this feeling 
Of unrest and long resistance 

Is but passionate appealing, 

A prophetic whisper stealing 

O'er the chords of our existence. 

Him whom thou dost once enamour, 

Thou, beloved, never leavest ; 
In life's discord, strife, and clamour, 
Still he feels thy spell of glamour ; 
Him of Hope thou ne'er bereavest. 

Weary hearts by thee are lifted, 

Struggling souls by thee are strengthened, 
Clouds of fear asunder rifted, 
Truth from falsehood cleansed and sifted, 
Lives, like days in summer, lengthened ! 

Therefore art thou ever dearer, 

O, my Sibyl, my deceiver ! 
For thou makest each mystery clearer, 
And the un attained seems nearer, 

When thou fillest my heart with fever ! 

Muse of all the Gifts and Graces ! 

Though the fields around us wither, 
There are ampler realms and spaces, 
Where no foot has left its traces : 

Let us turn and wander thither ! 



THE CHILD REX'S HOUR. 431 

lligjjt tfee Stosnfe 

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. 

Bbtwbbm ihe dark an 1 tin 
When the night is beginning 

the day's occupationa 
That is known as the Children's Hour. 

I hear in the chamber aboi 

The patter of little I 
The Bound of a door that is 

And 1 

Prom my stud) I Bee in the lam] ' 

Deao broad hall st.nr, 

! and laugh 

And Edith with golden h 

A whisper and then a Bilen 

yet 1 know by their meiT] 

Tin ;. ,u<- plotting and planning together 
To take 

A Budden rush from tl 

A sudden raid from the hall ! 
B • left unguar 

Thej enter my C88tle wall ! 

They climb up into my turret 

0*er the arms and back of my chair; 
If I try to escape they surround me j 

They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 

Their arms about me entwine, 
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 

In his Mouse Tower on the Rhine! 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, 

Because you have scaled the wall, 
Such an old moustache as I am 

Is not a match tor you all ! 



432 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

I have you fast in my fortress,, 
And will not let you depart, 
But put you down into the dungeon 
In the round- tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you for ever, 
Yes, for ever and a day, 

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 
And moulder in dust away ! 



ENCELADUS. 

Under Mount Etna he lies, 

It is slumber, it is not death j 
For he struggles at times to arise, 
And above him the lurid skies 

Are hot with his fiery breath. 

The crags are piled on his breast, 

The earth is heaped on his head; 
But the groans of his wild unrest, 
Though smothered and half suppressed, 
Are heard, and he is not dead. 

And the nations far away 

Are watching with eager eyes j 

They talk together and say, 

" To-morrow, perhaps to-day, 
Enceladus will arise!" 

And the old gods, the austere 

Oppressors in their strength, 
Stand aghast and white with fear 
At the ominous sounds they hear, 

And tremble, and mutter, " At length !" 

Ah me ! for the land that is sown 

With the harvest of despair, 
Where the burning cinders, blown 
From the lips of the overthrown 

Enceladus, fill the air. 



THE CUMBERLAND, 

Where ashes are heaped in drifts 

( her vineyard and held and town, 
Whenever he starts and lilts 
His head through the blackened rifts 
Oi the crags that keep him down. 

the red light shin 
be glare of bis awful t ■ 
And the storm-wind .shont^ through the 
Of Alps and of Apennines, 
" EnceladuSj ai 



433 



THE CUMBERLAND. 

At anchor in Hampton Roads m 
On board ot the Cumberland, -1 
And at times from the fortress across the bay 

The alarum of drums swept past, 

( )r a bugle blast 
From the camp on the bL 

Then far away to the south uprose 

A little feather of snow-white smoke, 
And we knew that the iron ship of our foe 

Was steadily steering its COOTSe 
To try the force 
Of our ribs of oak. 

Down upon us heavily runs 

Silent and sullen, the floating fort ; 
Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, 
And leaps the terrible death, 
With fiery breath, 
From each open port. 

We are not idle, but send her straight 

Defiance baek in a lull broadside! 
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, 
Rebounds our heavier hail 
From each iron scale 
Of the monster's hide. 



434 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

"Strike your flag!" the rebel cries, 

In his arrogant old plantation strain. 
"Never!" our gallant Morris replies j 
"It is better to sink than to yield!" 
And the whole air pealed 
With the cheers of our men. 

Then, like a kraken huge and black, 

She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp ! 
Down went the Cumberland all a wrack, 
With a sudden shudder of death, 
And the cannon's breath 
For her dying gasp. 

Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay, 

Still floated our flag at the mainmast head. 
Lord, how beautiful was thy day ! 
Every waft of the air 
Was a whisper of prayer, 
Or a dirge for the dead. 

Ho ! brave hearts that went down in the seas ! 

Ye are at peace in the troubled stream, 
Ho ! brave land ! with hearts like these, 
Thy flag, that is rent in twain, 
Shall be one again, 
And without a seam ! 



SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE. 

Labour with what zeal we will, 
Something still remains undone, 

Something uncompleted still 
Waits the rising of the sun. 

By the bedside, on the stair, 

At the threshold, near the gates, 

With its menace or its prayer, 
Like a mendicant it waits ; 

Waits, and will not go away ; 

Waits, and will not be gainsaid : 
By the cares of yesterday 

Each to-day is heavier made ; 



A DAY OF SUNSHINE. 43 «; 

Till at length the burden -(.cms 

Greater than our strength can bearj 
Heavy as the weight of dreams, 

Pressing on OS everywhere. 
And we -land from day to day, 

Like the dwarfs of I by, 

Who, as Northern Leg 

On their shoulders held the sky. 



SNOW-FLAKES. 

Out ot' the bosom of the Air, 

< > of the cloud-folds oi her garments shaken, 
Over the woodlands brown and b 
Over the harvest-fields forsaken, 
at , and soft, and slow 
ends the ^now. 

Even as our ( Loudy fai 

Suddenly shape m Borne divine expression, 
Even as the troubled heart doth make 

In the white countenance confession, 
The troubled sky reveals 

The griet it tcels. 

This is the poem oi the Air, 

Slowly in silent syllables recorded} 

This is the secret of despair, 

Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, 
Now whispered and revealed 

To wood and field. 



A DAY OF SUNSHINE. 

O gift of God ! O perfect day : 
Whereon shall no man work, but play; 
Whereon it is enough for me, 
Not to be doing, but to be ! 



43^ BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

Through every fibre of my brain, 
Through every nerve, through every vein, 
I feel the electric thrill, the touch 
Of life, that seems almost too much. 

I hear the wind among the trees 
Playing celestial symphonies ; 
I see the branches downward bent, 
Like keys of some great instrument. 

And over me unrolls on high 
The splendid scenery of the sky, 
Where through a sapphire sea the sun 
Sails like a golden galleon, 

Towards yonder cloud-land in the "West, 
Towards yonder Islands of the Blest, 
Whose steep sierra far uplifts 
Its craggy summits white with drifts. 

Blow, winds ! and waft through all the rooms 
The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms ! 
Blow, winds ! and bend within my reach 
The fiery blossoms of the peach ! 

O Life and Love ! O happy throng 
Of thoughts, whose only speech is song ! 
O heart of man ! canst thou not be 
Blithe as the air is, and as free ? 



WEARINESS. 

O little feet ! that such long years 
Must wander on through hopes and fears, 

Must ache and bleed beneath your load| 
I, nearer to the Wayside Inn 
Where toil shall cease and rest begin, 

Am weary, thinking of your road ! 

O little hands ! that, weak or strong, 
Have still to serve or rule so long, 

Have still so Jong to give or ask; 
I, who so much with book and pen 
Have toiled among my fellow-men, 

Am weary, thinking of your task. 



WEARINESS. 
O little hearts ! that throb and beat 
With such impatient, feverish heat, 

Such limitless and strong di 
Mine that so long has glowed and burned, 
With passions into ashes turned 

Now covers and conceals its fires. 



437 



O little souls ! as pure and white 
And crystalline as rays of light 

; from heaven, their source divine; 
Refracted through the mist of years, 

How red my selling sun appears, 
How lurid looks this soul ot' mine ! 




I 

THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STJNBISH. 
1858. 



MILES STANDISH. 



In the Old Colony ^dys, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims, 
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling, 
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather, 
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain. 
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausir 
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare, 
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, — 
Cutlass and corslet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus, 
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence, 
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchloa 
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic, 
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iro:- 
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already E 

Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November. _ . 
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend, and household companic. 
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window; 
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion, 
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives 
Whorn Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, " Not Angles but AngeLj 
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the May Flower. 

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting, 
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymout 
« Look at these arms," he said, "the warlike weapons that hang he 
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection ! 
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastpla 
Well I remember the day ! once saved my life in a skirmish ; 
Here in front you can see the very dent of the bullet 



MILKS STAXDTSH. 439 

Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero. 
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish 
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish m< 
■"hereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing: 
f Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet 5 
He in his mercy preserved yon, to be our shield and our weapon !" 
{Still the Captain continued, unheeding the Words of the stripling: 
I See, how bright they are burnished, as it' in an arsenal hanging; 

That is because J have done it myself, and not Kit it to 1 
Serve yourself, would you be v. ell sen ■ 

So I take (no ot ur pens and your ink! 

Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army, 

twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and 

Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and p 

And, like Caesar, I know tb 

This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunlk.uns 

Dance on tin- waves ofthe sea, and vanish again m a moment. 

Alden laughed ashe wrote, and still tin- I ■ ntinued: 

' Look ! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted 

i :i the r< of (I the t lunch, a preacher w 1. 

Jlteady, straightforv 

Drthodox, Bashing conviction right into the hearts ofthe heathen. 

Now we are ready, 1 think, for any assault ofthe : 

Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they tn i 1. 
[Let them come, if they like, be it • - hem, 1 r ; 

FjLspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, S 

1 Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on 1! 
washed with a cold grey mist, the vap mry breath ot' the east wind, 
! and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim ofthe 00 

silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sunshine. 
)ver his countenance flitted a shadow like those en the I 
bloom intermingled with light; and his voice was subdued with emotion. 
Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he proceeded: 

• ' Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose Standish ■ 

beautiful rose of love, that bloomed tor me by the wayside ! 

■he was the first to die of all who came in the May Flower ! 

preen above her is growing the field ot" wheat we have sown there, 
Jfetter to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our people, 
• T lest they should count them and see how many already have perished!" 

Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was thoughtful. 

Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and among them 
Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for binding 5 



440 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES ST AN DISH. 

Bariffe's Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries of Caesar, 
Oat of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge of London, 
And as if guarded by these, between them was standing the Bible. 
Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, as if doubtful 
Which of the three he should choose for his consolation and comfort, 
Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns of the Romans. 
Or the Artillery practice designed for belligerent Christians. 
Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponderous Roman 
I Seated himself at the window, and opened the book and in silence 
• Turnedo'erthewell-wornleaves, where thumb marks thick on the margin 
. Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was hottest. _ 
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, 
Busily writing epistles important, to go by the May Flower 
Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, God willing. 
Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible winter, 
Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of Priscilla, 
Full of the name' and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla ! 

II. 

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the striplin; 

Or an occasional sigh from the labouring heart of the Captain, 

Reading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Caesar. 

After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, palm downward 

Heavily on the page : " A wonderful man was this Caesar . 

You are a writer, and I am a tighter, but here is a fellow ^ 

Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally skilful 

Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the comely, the youtnm 

-Ye?, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen and his weapor 

Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could dictate 

Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his memoirs. 

" Truly," continued the Captain, not heeding or hearing the other, 

" Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Caesar . 

Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village, 

Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right when he said it._ 

Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many times after y 

Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities he conquered ; 

He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has recorded ; 

Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Brutus ! 

Now, do you know what he did on a certain occasion in Flanders^ 

When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front giving ; way toe 

And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded so closely together. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 44* 

There was no room for their swords } Why, he seized a shield from 

a soldier, 
Put himself straight at the headof his troops, and comr/.:mded the captains, 
Calling on each by his name, to order forward the ensigns j 
Then to widen the ranks, and give more room tor their weapons; 
So he won the day, the battle of something-or-oiher. 
That's what I always say 5 if you wish a thing to be well done, 
You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others !" 

' All was silent again j the Captain continued his reading. 
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the strip!. 
Writing epistles important to go next day by the -May Flower, 
Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla ; 
Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priscilla, 
Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the - 
Strove to betray it, by singing and shouting the name of Priscilla! 
Finally closing his book, with a bang of the pOD I POUS < 
Sudden and loud as the sound 01 J musket, 

This to the young man spake Miles Stan I ish the Captain of Plymouth: 
"When you have finished your work, 1 have something important to 

tell you. 
Be not however in haste; I can wait ; I shall not be impatient!" 
Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his letters, 
Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful attention : 

"Speak; for whenever you speak, I am always ready to listen, 
Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Standish. ' 

Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and culling his phrases: 
""Pis not good for a man to be alone, say the Scriptures. 

' This I have said before, and again and again I repeat it; 
Every hour in the day, I think it, and f< jay it. 

Since Rose Standish died, my life has been weary and dreary ; 
Sick at heart have I been, bevond the healing of friendship. 

. Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden Priscilla. 

1 She is alone in the world ; her father and mother and brother 

i Died in the winter together; I saw her going and coming, 
Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the bed of the dj 

I Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to myself, that if ever 
There were angels on earth, as there are angels in heaven, 
Two have I seen and known ; and the angel whose name is Priscilla 
Holds in my desolate life the place which the other abandoned. 
Long have f cherished the thought, but never have dared to reveal it, 
Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the most part. 
Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth, 
Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but of actions, 



443 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 

Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. 

Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my meaning 5 

I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases. 

You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in elegant language, 

Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers, 

Such as you think best adapted to win the heart of a maiden." 

When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair-haired, taciturn stripling, 
All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewildered, 
Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with lightness, 
Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in his bosom, 
Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken by lightning, 
Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than answered : 
" Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and mar it ; 
If you would have it well done, — I am only repeating your maxim, — 
You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others ! ' ' 
But with the air of a man whom nothing can turn from his purpose. 
Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Captain of Plymouth : 
* Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gainsay it ; 
But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for nothing. 
Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases. 
I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to surrender, 
But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare not. 
I'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of a cannon, 
But of a thundering * No ! ' point-blank from the mouth of a woman, 
That I confess I'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it ! 
So you must grant my request, for you are an elegant scholar, 
Having the graces of speech, and skill in the turning of phrases." 
Taking the hand of his friend, who still was reluctant and doubtful, 
Holding it long in his own, and pressing it kindly, he added : 
" Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep is the feeling that prompts me ; 
Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of our friendship I" 
Then made answer John Alden : " The name of friendship is sacred ; 
What you demand in that name, I have not the power to deny you!" 
So the strong will prevailed, subduing and moulding the gentler, 
Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his errand. 

III. 

THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 

So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on his errand, 
Out of the street of the village, and into the paths of the forest, 
Into the tranquil woods, where blue-birds and robins were building 



THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 443 

Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens of verdure, 
Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and freedom. 
All around him was calm, but within him commotion and conflict, 
Low contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. 
Co and fro in his breast his thought! ad dashing, 

1 foundering ship, with every roll of the ressei, 
\\ ashes the bitter sea, the m< 

*Must 1 relinquish it all," he died with a wild laments 
" Mim i relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the ilia 

! > r this 1 ! and waited, and worshipped 

n as it lor this 1 have followed the flyin 
Over the wintry sea, to the desolate sh< id I '-. 

Truly the heart is deceitful, an tption 

Jise, like an exhalation, the misty phanfc . 
Angels oi light they semi, but are only delusioi 
All 1, clear to me no* ; I feel 1 distinctlj ! 

This is the hand of the L>.rd ; it b laid npon me in 
sor I base followed too much the heart 

Worshipping Astaroth blindly, and impious id 

ihi, is the cross 1 most bearj the sin and the ra rtfon.* 

^ So through the Plymouth •,. rrand ; 

Crossing the brook at the ford,* here it bra* led over pebble and shallow. 
Gathering still, as he went, tl looming around ban, 

flagrant, filling the air with a itran 

Children lost in the with leaves in their slumber, 

r Puritan flowers," he said, "and the type of Puritan mai 
Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla! 
|o 1 will take them to herj to Priscilla the May-flower of Plymouth, 
Modest and simple and sweet, OS a parting gift will I take them; 
Breathing their .silent farewells, as they lade and wither and perish, 

i" be thrown away as is the heart of tl 
So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand ; 
Dame to an open space, and saw the disk of the ocean, 
I lilless, sombre and cold with the comfortless breath of the east wind ; 
mu the new-built house, and people at work in a mead. 

feard, as he drew near the door, the musical voice of Priscilla 
jinging the Hundredth Psalm, the grand old Puritan anthem, 
Husic that Luther sang to the sacred words of the Psalmist, 
lull ot the breath of the Lord, consoling and comforting many. 
'-hen, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden 

cated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift 
Med at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous spindle, 
Vhile with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion. 



444 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 

Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm-book of Ainsworth. 

Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music together. 

Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of a churchyard, 

Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses. 

Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old Puritan anthem, 

She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the forest, 

Making the humble house and the modest apparel of home-spun 

Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the wealth of her being ! 

Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold and relentless, 

Thoughts of what might have been, and the weight and woe of hiserrandj 

All the dreams that had faded, and all the hopes that had vanished, 

All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion, 

Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful faces. 

Still he said to himself, and almost fiercely he said it, 

" Let not him that putteth his hand to the plough look backwards ; 

Though the ploughshare cut through the flowers of life to its fountains, 

Though it pass o'er the graves of the dead and the hearts of the living, 

It is the will of the Lord 3 and his mercy endureth for ever !" 

So he entered the house : and the hum of the wheel and the singing 
Suddenly ceased j for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold, 
Rose as he entered, and gave him her hand, in signal of welcome, 
Saying, " I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the passage j 
For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spinning." 
Awkwardanddumbwithdelightjthat a thought of him had been mingled 
Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of the maiden, 
Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for an answer 
Finding no words for his thought. He remembered that day in the winter, 
After the first great snow, when he broke a path from the village, 
Reeling and plunging along through the drifts that encumbered the 

doorway, 
Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered the house, and Priscilla 
Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat by the fireside, 
Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her in the snow-storm. 
Had he but spoken then ! perhaps not in vain had he spoken 5 
Now it was all too late ; the golden moment had vanished ! 
So he stood there abashed, and gave her the flowers for an answer. 

Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the beautiful Spring- 
time, 
Talked of their friends at home, and the May Flower that sailed on 

the morrow. 
« I have been thinking all day," said gently the Puritan maiden, 
"Dreamingall night, and thinkingalJ day, of thehedge-rowsof England.— 



THE LOVERS ERRAND. 445 

They are in blossom now, and the country is all like a garden ; 
Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark and the linnet, 
Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neighbours 
Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together, 
And, at the end of the street, the village church, with the ivy 
Climbing the old grey tower, and the quiel graves in the churchyard. 
Kind are the people I live with, and dear to rae my religion ; 
Still my heart is so Bad, that I wish myself back in Old England. 
You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it : I almost 
Wibh myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely and wretched." 

Thereupon answered the youth : " Indeed I do not condemn you , 
Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this terrible winter. 
Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to lean on ; 
So I have come to you now, with an oiler and proffer of man 

Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth!" 
Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer of letti n, — 

Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in beautiful phr. 

But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like a schoolboy j 

Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly. 

Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan maiden 

Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with wonder, 

Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and rendered her specch- 

leSS ; 

Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence: 
" [f the great Captain of Plymouth i me, 

Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me ? 
\i 1 am not worth the wooing, 1 surely am not worth the winning!" 
Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing the matter, 
Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain was busy, — 
Had no time for such things-, — such things ! the words grating harshly 
Fell on the ear of Priscilla ; and swift as a flash she made answer : 
" Has he no time for such things, as you call it, before he is man 
Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the wedding? 
That is the way with you men; you don't understand us, you cannot. 
.When you have made up your minds, after thinking of this one and 

that one, 
Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one with another, 
Then you make known your desire, with abrupt and sudden avowal, 
And are offended and hurt, and indignant perhaps, that a woman 
Does not respond at once to a love that she never suspected, 
3)oes not attain at a bound the height to which you have been climbing. 
This is not right nor just : for surely a woman's alfection 



44 6 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 

Is not a thing to be asked for, and had for only the asking. 
When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but shows it. 
Had he but waited awhile, had he only showed .that he loved me, 
Even this Captain of yours— who knows ?— at last might have won me, 
Old and rough as he is 5 but now it never can happen." 

Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of Priscilla, 
Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, expanding ; 
Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his battles in Flanders, 
; How with the people of God he had chosen to suffer affliction, 
, How, in return for his zeal they had made him Captain of Plymouth 5 
' He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedigree plainly 
Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in Lancashire, England, 
Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson of Thurston de Standish ; 
Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely defrauded, 
Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest a cock argent 
Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the blazon. 
He was a man of honour, of noble and generous nature -, 
Though he was rough, he was kindly -, she knew how during the winter 
He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as woman's j 
Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and headstrong, 
Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and placable always, 
Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little of stature 3 
For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, courageous 5 
Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England, 
Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish ! i 

But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language, 
Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, 
Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning with laughter,^ 
Said, in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for yourself, John :"; 

JOHN ALDEN. 

Into the open air John Alden, perplexed and bewildered, 
Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by the sea-side ; 
Paced up and down the sands, and bared his head to the east wind, 
Cooling his heated brow, and the fire and fever within him. 
Slowly as out of the heavens, with apocalyptical splendours, 
Sank the City of God, in the vision of John the Apostle, 
So, with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper, and sapphire, 
Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets uplifted 
Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who measured the city. 



70HX . 447 

"Welcome, O wind of the East!* 1 be exclaimed in his wild exultation, 
"Welcome-, () wind of the East from the caves of the misty Atlantic! 
Blowing o'er fields of duke, and measureless meadows • s, ; 

blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottoes and garden- 
Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burin. I and wrap me i 

Clo^e in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever within me !" 

Like an awakened conscience, I moaning and tossing, 

Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands of 
Fierce in his soul was the straggle and tumult of i 
Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded and bleed 
Passionate cries of desire, and importunate pl< 
'■ [s it my fault," he said, "thai the maiden has chosen between us ; 
la it my fault that be failed, — my fault that I am tl 
Then within him there thundered a voice, Like Hie voice of the Prophet : 
'■ It hath displeased the Lord! " — and he thou ion, 

Bathsheba's beautiful face, and bis friend in tl 
Shame and confusion ofguilt, a; cil and self<condemnat 

Overwhelmed him at once; and he cried in the deepest contrition: 
" It hath displeased the Lord ! It k the temptation of Satan !'' 

Then uplifting his 1. 1 1 beheld t!. 

Dimly I ol thl M riding at anchor, 

Rocked on the rising tide, and n 

Heard th voices of men througb the mist, the rattle i I 

J Thrown on the deck, the shouts ofthe mate, and th. . sir!" 

Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping air ofthe twil 

■ Still for a moment he stood, and listened, a:. I 
Then went hurriedly on, as one wl . phantom, 

. then quickens his pace, and foil low. 

"Yes, it k plain to me now," he murmured ; H the hand of the Lord is 

; Leading me out ofthe land of darkness, the bond.; 
Through the sea that shall lift the walls of its wal 
Hiding me, cutting me off, from the cruel thoughts that pursi: 
Bapk will 1 go 0*er the ocean, this dreary land will abandon, 
Her whom 1 may not love, and him whom my heart has offended. 
Better to be in my grave in the green old churchyard in England, 
Close by my mother's side, and among the dust of my kindred} 
Better be dead and forgotten, than living in shame and dishonour! 
Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark ofthe narrow chamber 
With me my secret shall lie, like a buried jewel that glimmers 
Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers of silence and darkness, — 
Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal hereafter !" 



44 8 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAN DISH. 

Thus as he spake, he turned, in the strength of his strong resolution, 
Leaving behind him the shore, and hurried along in the twilight, 
Through the congenial gloom of the forest silent and sombre, 
Till h^ beheld the lights in the seven houses of Plymouth, 
Shining like seven stars in the dusk and mist of the evening. 
Soon he entered his door, and found the redoubtable Captain 
Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of Caesar, 
Fi°-htin°- some great campaign in Hainault or Brabant or Flanders. 
" Long have you been on your errand," he said with a cheery demeanour, . 
Even as one who is waiting an answer, and fears not the issue. 
" Not far off is the house, although the woods are between us ; 
But you have lingered so long, that while you were going and coming 
I have fought ten battles and sacked and demolished a city. 
Come, sit down, and in order relate to me all that has happened." 

Then John Alden spake, and related the wondrous adventure, 
From beginning to end, minutely, just as it happened ; 
How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped in his courtship, 
Only smoothing a little, and softening down her refusal. 
But when he came at length to the words Priscilla had spoken, 
Words so tender and cruel : "Why don't you speak for yourself, John? " 
Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on the floor, till his armour 
Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of sinister omen~ 
All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explosion, 
Even as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruction around it. 
Wildly he shouted, and loud : " John Alden ! you have betrayed me ! 
Me, Miles Standish, your friend! have supplanted, defrauded, betrayed me !jj 
One of my ancestors ran his sword through the heart of Wat Tyler ; 
Who shall prevent me from running my own through the heart of a traitor? - 
Yours is the greater treason, for yours is a treason to friendship ! 
You, who lived under my roof, whom I cherished and loved as a brother ; : 
You, who have fed at my beard, and drunk at my cup, to whose keeping: 
I have intrusted my honour, my thoughts the most sacred and secret,- 
You, too, Brutus ! ah woe to the name of friendship hereafter ! 
Brutus was Caesar's friend, and you were mine, but henceforward 
Let there be nothing between us save war, and implacable hatred ! " 

So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode about in the chamber, 
Chafing and choking with rage ; like cords were the veins on his temples.! 
But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the doorway, 
Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent importance, 
Rumours of danger and war and hostile incursions of Indians ! 
Straightway the Captain paused, and, without further question or parley, 
Took from the nail on the wall his sword with its scabbard of iron, 



JOHN ALDE.V. 449 

Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning fiercely, departed 
Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of die scabbard ' 

growing fainter and tbintcrj amJ dymg ^^ m ^ ^^^ 

Unen he arose from his seat, and looked forth into the darkness 
, felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot with the insult 

atted In, eyes to the heavens, and, folding hi, hands as in chUdhood, 
1 rayed m the silence oi night to the Father who seeth in secret. 

Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful away to the council 
found it already assembled, impatiently waiting hi, coming • 
Men in the middle of life, austere and grave in deportment/ 
Only one ot them old, the h,ll that was nearest to heaven 
Covered w,th snow, but erect, the excellent Elder of Plymouth. 

God had silted three kingdom, to find the wheat lor this planting 
[hen had sitied the wluat, as the living seed of a nation 
■o say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of the people ' 
■ear them was standing an Indian, in attitude stern and defiant 
faked down to the waist, and grim and fertx ious in aspect : ' 
While on the table before them wa, lying unopened a B 
fnderous, bound in leather, brass-srudd* n ' n \ 

And be,,de it outstretched the skin « I a rattlesnake glittered 
filed, like a quiver, with arr> . I and chalh 

|OUght by the Indian ami speaking with arrowy to: 
|US Miles Standish beheld, a, he entered, and herd llu ; 

jvhat were an answer befitting the hostile message and m 
ralkingoi tins and of that, contrivi ting, objecting: 

ne voice only lor peace, and that the < 
lUdgmg u wise and well that some at 
:; llJu ' r than anv were slain, for this was but Christian behaviour! 

hen outspake Mil< s Si mdish, the stalwart Captain of Plymouth, 
gttermg deep m his throat, for hi, voice was husky with 

What! do you mean to make war with milk and the water of i 
j it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer planted 

here on the roof of the church, or is to shoot red devils? 
fruly the only tongue that is understood by a savage 
lust be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth of the cannon »" 
hereupon answered and said the excellent Elder of Plymouth 
jpmewhat amazed and alarmed at this irreverent lano-ua^e ■ 
; Not so thought Saint Paul, nor yet the other Apostles ; 

ot from the cannon's mouth were the tongues of fire they spake 

ut unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Captain, 
bo had advanced to the table, and thus continued discoursing • 
toeave this matter to me, for to me by right it pcrtaineth. 



450 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 

War is a terrible trade ; but in the cause that is righteous, 
Sweet is the smell of powder; and thus I answer the challenge !' 

Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sudden, contemptuous gesture 
Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and bullets 
Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the savage, 
Saying, in thundering tones : " Here, take it ! this is your answer !' 
Silently out of the room then glided the glistening savage, 
Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself like a serpent, 
Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of the forest. 



THE SAILING OF THE MAY FLOWER. 

Just in the grey of the dawn, as the mists uprose from the meadows 
There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village of Plymouth ; 
Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order imperative, " Forward ! 
Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then silence. 
Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the village. 
Stand ish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous army, 
Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of the white men, 
Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the savage. 
Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men of King David 3 
Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and the Bible, — 
Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and Philistines. 
Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morning ; 
Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, advancing, 
Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. 

Many a mile had they marched, when at length the village of Plymout. 
Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold labours. 
Sweet was the air and soft ; and slowly the smoke from the chimney/ 
Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily eastward ; 
Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked of the weathe f 
Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing fair for the May Flowe 
Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the dangers that menace' 
He being gone, the town, and what should be done in his absence. 
Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of women 
Consecrated with hymns the common cares of the household. 
Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced at his coming $ 
Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the mountains ; 
Beautiful on the sails of the May Flower riding at anchor, 
Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of the winter. 



THE SAILING OF THE MAY FLOWER. 431 

, Loosely against her masts was hanging and flapping her canvas, 
I Rent by so many gales, and patched by the hands of the sailors. 

Suddenly from her side, as the son rose over the ocean, 
•Darted a puff of smoke, and floated seaward j anon rang 

J, oud over field and forest the cannon*! roar, and the a I 
(Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of departure! 

Ah! but with louder echoes replied the hearts 

Meekly, in \ the chapter was 1 the Bible, 

Meekly the prayer 

Then from their hi . me forth tin I Plymouth. 

Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the 
r, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to tl 

Homeward bound o'er tl leaving them here in the di 

Foremost among them was Alden. All night he hud lain without 
slumber, 
turning and tossing about in the heat and unn 
1 beheld Miles Standish, who came back late fi m the council, 

^talking into the room, and heard him mutter and murmur, 

. tnd sometimes it sounded lil 
hue he had come to the bed, and menl in sili 

Then he had turned away, and Bflid: " 1 will not awake i 
Let him Bleep on, it is I more talkie 

hen he extinguish it, and threw himself d< pallet, 

ressed a.- be w is, 1 nd 1 tk ol the mornin 

overed himself v iththecloak hehad womin hiscampaigns in Flanders,— 
lept as a soldi< r sleeps in his I 1 ly tor a< I 

ut with the dawn he arose; in the twilight Alden beheld him 
ut on his corslet 1 1 all the n mour, 

Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Damascus, 
''Take from the corner his musket, and so itride out of the chamber. 

Often the heart of the youth had burned and yearned to cnibrat 
fpften his lips had essayed to speak, imploring tor pardon ; 
All the old friendship came back, with its tender and grateful em< 
ifeut his pride overmastered the noble nature within him, — 
Pride, and the sense ol' his wrong, and the burning lire of the 11 
e beheld his friend departing in anger, but spake not, 
him go forth to danger, perhaps 10 death, and he spake not! 
Then he arose from his bed, ami heard what the people \\ i 
Joined in the talk at the door, with Stephen and Richard and Gilbert, 
Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading of Scripture, 
And, with the others, in haste went hurrying down to the sea-shore, 
Down to the Plymouth lvoek, that had been to their feet as a door-step 
Into a world unknown, — the corner-stone of a nation! 



4^2 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 

There with his boat was the Master, already a little impatient 
Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might shift to the eastward, 
Square-built, hearty, and strong, with an odour of ocean about him, 
Speaking with this one and that, and cramming letters and parcels 
Into his pocket capacious, and messages mingled together 
Into his narrow brain, till at last he was wholly bewildered. 
Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed on the gunwale, 
One still firm on the rock, and talking at times with the sailors, 
Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager for starting. 
He too was eager to go, and thus put an end to his anguish, 
Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than keel is or canvas, 
Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would rise and pursue him 
But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld the form of Priscilia 
Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all that was passing. 
Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his intention, 
Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, imploring, and patient, 
That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from its purpose, 
As from the verge of a crag, where one step more is destruction. 
Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mysterious instincts ! 
Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are moments, 
Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall adamantine ! 
" Here I remain ! " he exclaimed, as he looked at the heavens above him; 
Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the mist and the madness 
Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was staggering headlong. 
" Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether above me, 
Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning over the ocean. 
There is another hand, that is not so spectral and ghost-like, 
Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for protection. 
Float, O hand of cloud, and vanish away in the ether ! 
Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me ; I heed not 
Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil ! 
There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so wholesome, 
As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is pressed by her footsteps. 
Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible presence 
Hover around her for ever, protecting, supporting her weakness ; 
Yes ! as my foot was the first that stepped on this rock at the landing 
So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the leaving!" 

Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified air and important, . 
Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind and the weather, . 
Walked about on the sands ; and the people crowded around him 
Saying a few last words, and enforcing his careful remembrance. 
Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping a tiller, 
Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his vessel^ 



PRISCILLA, 45.3 

Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and flurry, 
Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness and sorrow, 
Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but Gospel ! 
Lost in the sound of the oars was the last farewell of the Pilgrims. 
() strong hearts and true! not one went back in the May Flower! 
No, not one looked back, who had set bis hand to this ploughing! 

Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of the sailors 
Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the as anchor. 

Then the yard-, w -w jnd, 

Blowing steady an 1 sir agj and the May Flower sail* d fn m the harbour 
Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to the southward 
Island and cape i fsan I, and the Fiel 1 of the First Encounter, 
look the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open Atlanl 
Borne on the send of the sea, and the .swelling hearts of the Pil 

Long in silence they watched the recec 
Much endeared to them all, as something living and human j 
Then, as if filled with the spirit, and wrapt in a vision proph 
Baring his hoary head, the e* i U< a! 1 ! ler of Plymouth 

Said, "Let US pray!" and they prayed, and thanked the Lord and took 

courage. 
Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, and above them 
Bowed and whispered the wheat on the bill of death, and their kindred 
Seemed to awake in theirgraves,andtojoin in the prayer that they ui 
Sun-illumimd and white, on the ea-ter: 

Gleamed the departing sail, life • a marble slab in a graveyard; 
Buried beneath it lay for ever all hope of escaping. 

Lo ! as they turned to depart, they saw the form of an Indian, 
Watching them from the hill ; but while they spake with each other, 
Pointing with outstretched hands, and say:; . " I !" he had vanished. 

So they returned to their homes; but Alden lingered a little. 

Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash of the billows 
Round the base of the rock, and the sparkle and flash of the sunshine, 
Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the waters. 

VI. 

TRISCILLA. 

Thus for a while he stood, and mused by the shore of the ocean, 

Thinking of many things, and most of all of Priscilla ; 

And as if thought had the power to draw to itself, like the loadstone, 

Whatsoever it touches, by subtile laws of its nature, 

Lo ! as he turned to depart, Priscilla was standing beside hira. 



4$4 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 

" Are you so much offended, you will not speak to me?" said she. 
" Am I so much to blame, that yesterday, when you were pleading 
Warmly the cause of another, my heart, impulsive and wayward, 
Pleaded your own, and spake out, forgetful perhaps of decorum ? 
Certainly you can forgive me for speaking so frankly, for saying 
What I ought not to have said, yet now I can never unsay it ; 
For there are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion, 
That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble 
Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, 
Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together. 
Yesterday I was shocked, when I heard you speak of Miles Standish, 
Praising his virtues, transforming his very defects into virtues, 
Praising his courage and strength, and even his fighting in Flanders, 
As if by fighting alone you could win the heart of a woman, 
Quite overlooking yourself and the rest, in exalting your hero. 
Therefore I spake as I did, by an irresistible impulse. 
You will forgive me, I hope, for the sake of the friendship between us , 
Which is too true and too sacred to be so easily broken !" 
Thereupon answered John Alden, the scholar, the friend of Miles Standish : 
" I was not angry with you, with myself alone I was angry, 
Seeing how badly I managed the matter I had in my keeping.' 
"No!" interrupted the maiden, with answer prompt and decisive; 
" No ; you were angry with me, for speaking so frankly and freely. 
It was wrong, I acknowledge ; for it is the fate of a woman 
Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless, 
Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. 
Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women 
Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers 
Running through caverns of darkness, unheard, unseen, and unfruitful, 
Chafing their channels of stone, with endless and profitless murmurs." r 
Thereupon answered John Alden, the young man, the lover of women : 
" Heaven forbid it, Priscilla ; and truly they seem to me always 
More like the beautiful rivers that watered the garden of Eden, 
More like the river Euphrates, through deserts of Havilah flowing, 
Filling the land with delight, and memories sweet of the garden !" 
"Ah, by these words, I can see," again interrupted the maiden, 
" How very little you prize me, or care for what I am saying. 
When from the depths of my heart, in pain and with secret misgiving, 
Frankly I speak to you, asking for sympathy only and kindness, 
Straightwayyoutakeup my words, that are plain anddirectand in earnest 
Turn them away from their meaning, and answerwith nattering phrases. 
This is not right, is not just, is not true to the best that is in you ; 
For I know and esteem you, and feel that your nature is noble, 
Lifting mine up to a higher, a more ethereal level. 



P RISC ILL A. 455 

Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it perhaps the more keenly 
Jt you say aught that implies 1 am only as one among many. 
It" you make use oi imon and complimentary phrases 

Most men think so line, m dealing and speaking with women, 
But which women reject • insipid, it' not as insulting." 

Mute and amazed was AldeB : and listened and looked at Priscilla, 
Thinking he never had seen her mo tie in bet beauty. 

He who hni yesterday pleaded so glibly the < a 'her, 

Stood there embarrassed and silent, and seeking in vain lor an answer. 
So the maiden went on, ami little divined or imagined 
What was at work in his heart, that made him so awkward and speechless* 
" Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think, and in all things 
Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred i • oi friendship. 

Jt is no secret 1 tell you, nor I am ashamed t<* de< lare it : 
I have liked to be with you, I ■ .ik with you alv. 

.. hurt at youx words, and a little affronted to hear voti 
jjrge me to marry your ft a he were th i andish, 

For 1 must tell you the truth: nnieh more t" me is yout friendship 
U'han all the love b 
Thru she extended her hand, ami AJden, who eagerly grasped it, 

Felt all the WOlinda in his heart, that were aching and l»Li ding so son ly. 
Healed by the tOUCh of that hand, and I lull o 

feeling, 
1 Yi ij we must ever be friends j a:\<\ of all wh i firiendship 

Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and deai 

Casting a farewell look at the glimmering sail of the May Flower, 

Distant, but still in sight, and sinking below the hon/on, 
Homeward togethl r they walked, with a strange, indent! 
That all the rest hail di parted and left them alone in the dea 

But, as they went through thefields in the blessing andsmile of the sunshine, 

Lighter grew their hearts, and Priscilla said very archly 

" Now that our terrible Captain has gone in pursuit of the Indians, 

Where he is happier tar than he would be commanding a household, 

You may speak boldly, and tell me of all that happened between you, 
When you returned List night, and said how ungrateful you found me." 
Thereupon answered John Aiden, ami told her the whole of the story, — 

Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath of Miles Standish. 
Whereat the maiden smiled, and said between laughing and earnest, 
n He is a little chimney, and heated hot in a moment!" 
But as he gently rebuked her, and told her how r much he had suffered, — 
How he had even determined to sail that day in the May Flower, 
Andhad remained tor her sake, on hearing the dangers that threatened, — 



45$ THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAND1SH. 

All her mariner was changed, and she said with a faltering accent, 

" Truly I thank you for this : how good you have been to me always ! 

Thus, as a pilgrim devout, who toward Jerusalem journeys, 
Taking three steps in advance, and one reluctantly backward, 
Urged by importunate zeal, and withheld by pangs of contrition ; 
Slowly but steadily onward, receding yet ever advancing, 
Journeyed this Puritan youth to the Holy Land of his longings, 
Urged by the fervour of love, and withheld by remorseful misgivings, 

VII. 

THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH. 

Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was marching steadily north- 
ward, 
Winding through forest and swamp, and along the trend of the sea-shore. 
All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his anger 
Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous odour of powder 
Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents of the forest. 
Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his discomfort j 
He who was used to success, and to easy victories always, 
Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by a maiden, 
Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom most he had trusted! 
Ah! 'twas too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafed in his armour. 1 

" I alone am to blame," he muttered, "for mine was the folly. 
What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and grey in the harness, 
Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the wooing of maidens ? 
'Twas but a dream, — let it pass, — let it vanish like so many others ! 
What I thought was a flower, is only a weed, and is worthless ; 
Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it away, and henceforward 
Be but a tighter of battles, a lover and wooer of dangers V* 
Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and discomfort, 
While he was marching by day or lying at night in the forest, 
Looking up at the trees, and the constellations beyond them. 

After a three days' march he came to an Indian encampment 
Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and the forest ; 
Women at work by the tents, and the warriors, horrid with war-paint, 
Seated about a fire, and smoking arid talking together ; 
Who, when they saw from afar the sudden approach of the white men, 
Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate and sabre and musket, 
Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among them advancing; 



THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH. 457 

'ame to parley with Stan dish, and offer him furs as a present j 
friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there was hatred. 
raves of the tribe were these, and brothers gigantic in stature, 
luge as Goliath ui Gath, or the terrible Og, king of Bashan ; 
)ne was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Wattawamat. 
Lound their necks were suspended their knives in scabbards of wampum. 
"wo-edged, trenchant kni\e>, with points as si. die. 

Ither arms had they none, for they were cunning and crafty. 
Welcome, English!" they said, — these words they had learned 

the traders 
'ouching at times 011 the coast, to barter and chaffer tor peltries. 
'hen in their native tongue they began to parley with Stan 
nrough his guide and interpreter, Hobomok, friend of the white 
[egging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and powder, 
[< pt by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague, in his 1 1 
leady to be let loose, and destroy his brother the reel man ! 

lut when Standish refused, and said he would give them the I; 

uddenly changing their tone, t! 

[lien Wattawamat advanced with a the other, 

Ind, with a lofty demeanour, thus vaunt.- to the Ca] 

Now Wattawamat can see, by the of the Captain, 

mgry is he in his heart ; but the heart of the brave Wattawamat 
i not afraid at the sight. He wa8 not born of a woman, 
lit on a mountain, at night, from an oak tree riven by lightning, 
brth he sprang :it a bound, with all his weapons about him, 
(touting, ' Who is there here to light with tin- brave Wattawamat ?"' 
"hen he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left hand, 
[eld it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle, 
lying, with bitter expression and look of sinister meaning: 
1 have another at home, with the face of a man on the handle; 
y and by they shall marry ; and there will be plenty of children !" 

Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, insulting Miles Stand 
[bile with his fingers he patted the knife that hung at his bosom, 

'rawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it back, as he muttered, 
By and by it shall see ; it shall eat ; ah, ha ! but shall speak not ! 
'his is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to destroy us.' 
re is a little man ; let him go and work with the women !" 

Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of Indians 
pping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest, 
ligning to look tor game, with arrows set on their bow-strings, 
rawing about him still closer ami closer the net of their ambush, 
nt undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated them smoothly; 



458 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES ST AND I SH. 

So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days of the fathers. , 
But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt, and the insult: 
All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurston de Standisl 
Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his temples. 
Headlong heleaped on the boaster,and,snatching his knife from its scabbarc 
Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, the savage 
Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike fierceness upon it. 
Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound of the war-whooj- 
And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind of December, 
Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery arrows. 
Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud came the lightning 
Out of the lightning thunder ; and death unseen ran before it. 
Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and in thicket, 
Hotly pursued and beset ; but their sachem, the brave Wattawamat, 
Fled not ; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bullet 
Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands clutching tt 

greensward, 
Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of his fathers. , 

There, on the flowers of the meadow the warriors lay, and above then 
Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend of the white man. 
Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart Captain of Plymouth : 
"Pecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, his strength, and his stature,- 
Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little man ; but I see no 1 
Big enough have you been to lay him speechless before you !" 

Thus the first battle was fought and won by the stalwart Miles Standisl 
When the tidings thereof were brought to the village of Plymouth, 
And as a trophy of war the head of the brave Wattawamat 
Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at oncewasachurchandafortres" 
All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, and took courage. 
Only Priscilia averted her face from this spectre of terror^ 
Thanking God in her heart that she had not married Miles Standish 
Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home from his battles, 
He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize and reward of his valou: 

VIII. 

THE SPINNING-WHEEL. 

Month after month passed away, and in Autumn the ships of th 

merchants 
Came with kindred and friends, with cattle and corn for the Pilgrims. 
All in the village was peace j the men were intent on their labours, 



THE SPINNING-WHEEL* 450 

Busy with hewing and building, with garden-plot and with merest end. 
Busy with breaking the glebe, and mowing the grass in the meadows, 
Searching the sea tor its fish, and hunting the deer in the forest 
All in the village was peace ; but at times the rumour of warfare 
willed the air with alarm, and the apprehension of danger. 
Bravely thestalwart Miles Standish was scouring the land with his forces, 
Waxing valiant in right and defeating the alien armies, 
v fill his name had become a sound ot fear to the Dal 
,Angcr was still in his heart, but at times the remorse and contrition 
Which in all noble natures succeed the passionate outbn 
Ilk-- a rising tide, that encounters the rush of a r i 
its current awhile, but making it bitter and brackish. 



S 
V 



M< mwhile AJden at home had built him a new habitation, 
Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from the tir-t of the forest 
Yooden-barred was the door, and the roi red with ru 

d the windows wire, and the window-panes were of paper, 

Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain were 

Then- too he dug a well, and around it planted an orchard : 

Still may be set n t<> this day some trace of the well and the orchard. 
Close to the house was the stall, when from annoyance, 

Kaghorn, the snow-white bull, that had fallen to Alden'a allotment 

J 11 the division of cattle, might ruminate in the night-time 

Over the pastures he cropped, made tragi • I pennyi 

Oft when his labour was finished, with eager feet would the dreamer 
Follow tin- pathway thai ran through the woods to the house of Priscilla, 

I a -d by illusions romantic and subtile deceptions of fancy, 
Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the semblance of friendship. 
Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the walk of his dwelling; 
Kver of her he thought, when he delved in the soil in his garden 3 
Ever ot" her he thought, when he read in his Bible on Sunday 
Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is described in the Proverbs — 
HOW the heart ot" her husband doth safely trust in her always 
How all the days of her life she will do him good, and not evil, 
I lm\ she - 1 keth the wool and the flax and worketh with glad] 
: th her hand to the spindle and holdeth the distatf, 

] low she : > not afraid of the snow for herself or her household, 
Knowing her household an- clothed with the scarlet cloth of her weaving ! 

it her wheel one afternoon in the Autumn, 
Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching her dexterous ringers, 
As it' the thread she was spinning were that of his lite and his fortune, 
iAfter a pause in their talk, thu.s spake to the sound of the spindle. 



4 <5o THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 

"Truly, Priscilla," he said, "when I see you spinning and spinning, 
Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others, 
Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly changed in a moment j 
You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the Beautiful Spinner." 
Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter and swifter j the spindle 
Uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short in her fingers j 
While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mischief, continued : 
"You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the queen of Helvetia 5 
She whose story I read at a stall in the streets of Southampton, 
Who, as she rode on her palfrey, o'er valley and meadow and mountain, 
Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff fixed to her saddle. 
She was so thrifty and good, that her name passed into a proverb. 
So shall it be with your own, when the spinning- wheel- shall no longer 
Hum in the house of the farmer, and fill its chambers with music. 
Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate how it was in their childhood, 
Praising the good old times, and the days of Priscilla the spinner I" 
Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful Puritan maiden, 
Pleasedwiththepraiseofherthriftfromhimwhosepraisewas the sweetest, 
Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of her spinning, 
Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flattering phrases of Alden : 
" Come, you must not be idle ; if I am a pattern for housewives, 
Show yourself equally worthy of being the model of husbands. 
Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind it, ready for knitting ; 
Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions have changed and the 

manners, 
Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old times of John Alden !" 
Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his hands she adjusted, 
He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms extended before him, 
She standing graceful, erect, and winding the thread from his fingers, 
Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of holding, 
Sometimes touching his hands, as she disentangled expertly 
Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares — for how could she help it ? — 
Sending electrical thrills through every nerve in his body. 

Lo ! in the midst of this scene, a breathless messenger entered, 
Bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news from the village. 
Yes; Miles Standish was dead! — an Indian hadbrought them the tidings, — 
Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot down in the front of the battle, 
Into an ambush beguiled, cut off with the whole of his forces ; 
All the town would be burned, and all the people be murdered ! 
Such were the tidings of evil that burst on the hearts of the hearers. 
Silent and statue-like stood Priscilla, her face looking backward 
Still at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted in horror 5 
But John Alden, upstarting, as if the barb of the arrow 




"BUd this skein on your hand, white I rand u ready for hatting.' 
Milts Stemdlsh, 



THE IVEDDIXG-DAY. 



Pi 



461 



?rcing the heart of his friend had struck his own, and had sundered 
Once and for ever the bonds that held him bound as a captive, 
Wild with excess of sensation, the awful delight of his freedom, 
Mingled with pain and regret, unconscious of what he was doing, 
Clasped, almost with a groan, the motionless form oi Prisciila, 
Pressing her close to hi, heart, as for ever his own, and exclaiming: 
['Those whom the Lord hath united, let no man put them asunder!" 

Even as rivulets twain, from distant and separate source-. 
Seeing each other afar, a, they Leap from the rocks, and punning 
.Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and nearer, 
Rush together at last, at their trysting-place in the forest j 
la these lives that had run thus for in separate channel,, 
Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and if .wing asunder, 
Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and nearer, 
Rushed together at last, and one was' lost in the other. 

IX. 

Till; WLDDINO-DAY. 

Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of purple and scarlet, 
Issued the Mm, the great High-Priest, in his garments resplendent, 

Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his forehead, 
Round the hem of his robe the golden bells and pon 
Blessing the world he came, and the bar, of vapour beneath him 
lleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at his feet was a laver ! 

! This was the wedding morn of Prisciila the Puritan maiden. 

Iriends were assembled together • the Elder and Magistrate also 
I raced thescene with their presence, and stood like the Lawand the Gospel, 
Ine with the sanction of earth and one with the blessing of heaven. 

tmple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth and ol I 
joftly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal, 
Taking each oilier for husband and wife in the Magistrate's presence, 
per the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland, 
fervently then, and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plymouth 
'rayed torthehearth and the home, that were founded t hat dav in alfection, 
'peaking of life and of death, and imploring divine benedictions. 

Lo ! when the service was ended, a form appeared on the threshold, 
wad in armour of steel, a sombre and sorrowful figure ! 
Vhy does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition? 
Vhy does the bride turu pale, and hide her face on his shoulder? 



462 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Is it a phantom of air, — a bodiless, spectral illusion ? 
Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal ? 
Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwel corned 5 
Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an expression 
Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden beneath them,; 
As when across the sky the driving rack of the rain-cloud 
Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by its brightness. 
Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lip, but was silent, 
As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting intention. 
But when were ended the troth and the prayer and the last benediction, 
Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with amazement j 

Bodily there in his armour Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth ! 
Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with emotion, " Forgive me ! 
I have been angry and hurt,— too long have I cherished the feeling 3 , 
I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God ! it is ended. 
Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of Hugh Standish,. 
Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error. 
Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Alden. * 
Thereupon answered the bridegroom : "Let all be forgottenbetweenus — . 
All save the dear, old friendship, and that shall grow older and dearer ! 
Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla, 
Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry in England, 
Something of camp and of court, of town and of country, commingled 
Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding her husband. 
Then he said with a smile : " I should have remembered the adage, — 
If you would be well served, you must serve yourself; and moreover, - 
No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of Christmas !" 

Great was the people's amazement, and greater yet their rejoicing, 
Thus to behold once more the sun-burnt face of their Captain, 
Whom they had mourned as dead 3 and they gathered and crowded abou 

him, 
Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride and of bridegroom, 
Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupting the other, |j 
Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpowered and bewildered 
He had rather by far break into an Indian encampment, 
Than come again to a wedding to which he had not been invited. 

Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the bride a 
the doorway, 
Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning. 
Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine, 
Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation ; 
There were the graves of the dead, and the barren waste of the sea-shore 



THE WEDDING-DAY. 463 

"here the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the meadows \ 
ut to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden ot Eden, 
illed with the presence ot God, whefi 3 the sound of the ocean. 



I Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of departure, 
fiends coming forth from the house, and impatient of longer delaying, 
fcch with his plan tor the day, and the work that was left lincom] 
hen from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder, 
Men thi' thoughtful, the careful, BO happy, SO proud 1 

1 rught out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand oi 

!d by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its QOStrils, 
vered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle. 
• should not walk, he -aid, through the dust and heat of the nooi 
should ride like a queen* not plod along like a pea-ant. 
mewhat alarmed at first, bi. 
licing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband, 

:.. tailed he r palfrey. 
Nothing is w anting now ,' be said w ith 
1 en you would be in truth my queen, my beautiful lien: 

Onward the bridal piXX their new habitation, 

appy husband ami wile, and friend- convi 'her. 

1.1-antly murmured the • rd in tin- I 

K.i-edw iththeima 1, like a dream oflove through its I 

[emulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the azure abj 
t-nvn through the golden leaves the sun was pouring bis splendours, 

t'iming <»!i purple grapes, that, from branches above them suspended, 
Ingled their odorous breath with the balm ot" the pine and the lir-tree, 
' Id and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of EschoL 
picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral a 

<-h with the youth of the world, and recallirj 

i\ and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, 

>\e immortal and young in the endli - 

» through the Plvmouth wood- passed onward the bridal procession. 




TALES OF A WAYSIDE INK 



PRELUDE. 

THE WAYSIDE INN. 

One Autumn night, in Sudbury town, 

Across the meadows bare and brown, 

The windows of the wayside inn 

Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves 

Of woodbine, hanging "from the eaves 

Their crimson curtains rent and thin. 

As ancient is this hostelry 
As any in the land may be, 
Built in the old Colonial day, 
When men lived in a grander way, 
With ampler hospitality ; 
A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall, 
Now somewhat fallen to decay, 
With weather-stains upon the wall, 
And stairways worn, and crazy doors, 
And creaking and uneven floors, 
And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall. 

A region of repose it seems, 

A place of slumber and of dreams, 

Remote among the wooded hills ! 

For there no noisy railway speeds, 

Its torch- race scattering smoke and gleeds; 

But noon and night, the panting teams 

Stop under the great oaks, that throw 

Tangles of light and shade below, 

On roofs and doors and window-sills. 

Across the road the barns display 

Their lines of stalls, their mows of haj, 



THE WAYSIDE I XX. 465 

Through the wide doors the breezes blow. 
The wattled cocks strut to and tro, 
And, half effaced by rain and shine, 
The Red Horse prances on the sign. 

Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode 
Deep silence reigned, save when a gust 
Went rushing down the county road, 
And skeletons of leaves, and dust, 
A moment quickened by its breath, 
Shuddered and danced their dance of death. 
And through the ancient oaks o'erhead 
Mysterious voices moaned and 1' 

But from the parlour of the inn 
A pleasant murmur smote the ear, 
Like water rushing through a weirj 
Oft interrupted by the din 
Of laughter and of loud applause, 
And, in each intervening pause, 

The P1US1C of a violin. 

Hie tire-light, shedding over all 

The splendour ol" its ruddy glow. 

Filled the whole parlour large and low ; 

It gleamed on wainscot and on wall. 

It touched with more than wonted grace 

Fair Princess Mary's pictured face; 

It bronzed the rafters overhead, 

On the old spinet' a ivory !•.■ 

It played inaudible nu I 

It crowned the sombre clock with rlame, 

The hands, the hours, the maker's name, 

A nil painted with a livelier red 

The Landlord's coat-of-arms again , 

And, flashing on the window-pane, 

Emblazoned with its light and shade 

The jovial rhymes, that still remain, 

Writ near a century ago, 

By the great Major Molineaux, 

Whom Hawthorne has immortal made. 

Before the blazing fire of wood 
Erect the rapt musician stood ; 
And ever and anon he bent 
His head upon his instrument, 



466 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 

And seemed to listen, till he caught 
Confessions of its secret thought, — 
The joy, the triumph, the lament, 
The exultation and the pain ; 
Then, by the magic of his art, 
He soothed the throbbings of its heart, 
And lulled it into peace again. 

Around the fireside at their ease 
There sat a group of friends, entranced 
With the delicious melodies ; 
Who from the far-oif noisy town 
Had to the wayside inn come down,, 
To rest beneath its old oak-trees. 
The fire-light on their faces glanced, 
Their shadows on the wainscot danced, 
And, though of different lands and speech. 
Each had his tale to tell, and each 
Was anxious to be pleased and please. 
And while the sweet musician plays, 
Let me in outline sketch them all, 
Perchance uncouthly as the blaze 
With its uncertain touch portrays 
Their shadowy semblance on the wail. 

But first the Landlord will I trace ; 

Grave in his aspect and attire; 

A man of ancient pedigree, 

A Justice of the Peace was he, 

Known in all Sudbury as "The Squire." 

Proud was he of his name and race, 

Of old Sir William and Sir Hugh, 

And in the parlour, full in view, 

His coat-of-arms, well framed and glazed, 

Upon the wall in colours blazed • 

He beareth gules upon his shield, 

A chevron argent in the field, 

With three wolves' heads, and for the crest 

A Wyvern part-per-pale addressed 

Upon a helmet barred ; below 

The scroll reads, "By the name of Howe." 

And over this, no longer bright, 

Though glimmering with a latent light, 

Was hung the sword his grandsire bore, 



THE WA YSIDE INN. 467 

In the rebellious days of yore, 
Down there at Concord in the right. 

A youth was there, of quiet ways* 

A Student of old books and d 

To whom all tongues and lands were known, 

And yet a lover or' his own ; 

With many a social virtue gracedj 

And yet a friend of sol/, 

A man of such a genial m 

The heart of all things he cmbi\.< 

And yet of such fastidious tasU . 

He never found the best too 

Books were his passion and deJighr, 

And in his upper room at home 

Stood many a rare and BUmptUOUfl ' 

in vellum bound, with gold bedightj 

Great volumes garmented in white, 

Kr< ailing Flpreu 

lh- loved the twilight that surrounds 

The border land OI old romance; 
Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance. 
And banner waves, and trun 
And ladies rule w ith I 

And mighty warriors sweep .. 

Magnified by the purple mist, 

"I'be dusk <>f centuries and 01 

The chronicles of Charlcni.-. 

Of Merlin and the Moil d Arthure, 

Mingled together in his brain 

\\ tales of Flores and Blanchefleur, 

Sir PernmbraSj sir Eglamour, 

Sir Launcelot, Sir Morgadour, 

Sir Guy, Sir Bevis, Sir Gawain. 

A young Sicilian, too, was there ; — 
In sight of Etna born and bred, 
Some breath of its volcanic air 
'Was glowing in his heart and brain, 
And, being rebellious to his liege, 
After Palermo's fatal siege, 
Across the western seas he fled, 
In good King Bomba s happy reign. 
His face was like a summer night, 



468 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN 

All flooded with a dusky light $ 
His hands were small ; his teeth shone white 
As sea-shells, when he smiled or spoke 5 
Kis sinews supple and strong as oak 5 
Clean shaven was he as a priest, 
Who at the mass on Sunday sings, 
Save that upon his upper lip 
His beard, a good palm's length at least, 
Level and pointed at the tip, 
Shot sideways, like a swallow's wings. 
The poets read he, o'er and o'er, 
And most of all the Immortal Four 
Of Italy ; and next to those, 
The story-telling bard of prose, 
Who wrote the joyous Tuscan tales 
Of the Decameron, that make 
Fiesole's green hills and vales 
Remembered for Boccaccio's sake. 
Much too of music was his thought $ 
The melodies and measures fraught 
With sunshine and the open air, 
Of vineyards and the singing sea 
Of his beloved Sicily j 
And much it pleased him to peruse 
The songs of the Sicilian muse, — 
Bucolic songs by Meli sung 
In the familiar peasant tongue, 
That made men say, " Behold ! once more 
The pitying gods to earth restore 
Theocritus of Syracuse !" 

A Spanish Jew from Alicant, 
With aspect grand and grave, was there $ 
Vender of silks and fabrics rare, 
And attar of rose from the Levant. 
Like an old Patriarch he appeared, 
Abraham or Isaac, or at least 
Some later Prophet or High-Priest 5 
With lustrous eyes, and olive skin, 
• And, wildly tossed from cheeks and chin* 
The tumbling cataract of his beard. 
His garments breathed a spicy scent 
Of cinnamon and sandal blent^ 






THE WAYSIDE INN. 469 

Like the soft aromatic gales 

That meet the manner, who sails 

Through the Moluccas, and the seas 

That wash the .shore-, of Celebes. 

All stones that recorded are 

By Pierre Alphonse he knew by heart, 

And it was rumoured he could say 

The Parables of Sandabar, 

And all the Fables of Pilpav, 

Or it" not all, the greaier part. 

Well ver.«,ed was he in Hebrew books, 

Talmud and Targum, and the lore 

Of Kabala ; and evermore 

There was a mystery in his 1 

His eyes seemed gazing far away, 

As if in vision or in trance 

He heard the solemn sackbuf play, 

And saw the Jewish maidens dance. 

A Theologian, from the Bchtol 

Of Cambridge on the Charles, was there ; 

Skilful alike with tongue and pen, 

He preached to all men ever) w here 

The Gospel of the Golden^Rule, 
The New Commandment 'given to men, 
Thinking the deed, and not the creed, 
Would help us tn our utmost need. 
With reverent feet the earth he trod, 
Nor banished nature from his plan, 
But studied still with deep research 
To build the Universal Church, 
Lofty as is the love of God, 
And ample as the wants of man. 

A Poet, too, was there, whose verse 

Was tender, musical, and terse ; 

The inspiration, the delight, 

The gleam, the orJory, the swift flight, 

Of thoughts so-sudden, that the\- seem 

The revelations of a dream, 

All these were his; but with them came 

No envy of another's fame ; 

He did not find his sleep less sweet 

For music 111 some neighbouring street. 



TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN 
Nor rustling hear in every breeze 
The laurels of Miltiades. 
Honour and blessings on his head 
While living, good report when dead, 
Who, not too eager for renown, 
Accepts, but does not clutch, the crown I 

Last the Musician, as he stood 

Illumined by that fire of wood ; 

Fair-haired, blue-eyed, his aspect blithe, 

His figure tall and straight and lithe, 

And every feature of his face 

Revealing his Norwegian race ; 

A radiance, streaming from within, 

Around his eyes and forehead beamed. 

The Angel with the violin, 

Painted by Raphael, he seemed. 

He lived in that ideal world 

Whose language is not speech, but song 5 

Around him evermore the throng 

Of elves and sprites their dances whirled 5 

The Stromkarl sang, the cataract hurled 

Its headlong waters from the height • 

And mingled in the wild delight 

The scream of sea-birds in their flight, 

The rumour of the forest trees, 

The plunge of the implacable seas, 

The tumult of the wind at night, 

Voices of eld, like trumpets blowing, 

Old ballads, and wild melodies 

Through mist and darkness pouring forth, 

Like Elivagar's river flowing 

Out of the glaciers of the North. 

The instrument on which he played 

Was in Cremona's workshops made, 

By a great master of the past, 

Ere yet was lost the art divine ; 

Fashioned of maple and of pine, 

That in Tyrolian forests vast 

Had rocked and wrestled with the blast i 

Exquisite was it in design, 

A marvel of the lutist's art, 

Perfect in each minutest part; 



PAUL REVERES RIDE. 
And in its hollow chamber, thus, 
The maker from whose hands it came 
Had written his unrivalled name, — 
"Antonius Stradivarius." 

And when he played, the atmosphere 
Was rilled with magic, and the ear 
Caught echoes of that Harp of Gold, 
Whose music had so weird a sound, 
The hunted stag forgot to bound, 
The leaping rivulet backward rolled, 
The bird-, came down from bush and tree, 
The dead came from beneath the -ea, 
The maiden to the harper's knee ! 

The music ceased ; the applause was loud, 

The pleased musician smiled and bowed j 
The wood-fire clapped its hands ol ilame, 

The shadows on the wainscot stirred 4 

And from the harpsichord there came 
A ghostly murmur of ac< laim, 
A sound like that sent down at night 
By birds oi passage in their flight, 

From the remotest distance I 

Then silence followed; then began 

A clamour for the Landlord's i.ile, — 

The story promised them of old. 

They said, but always left untold; 
And he, although a bashful man, 

And all his i vied to fail, 

Finding excuse «'t no avail, 
Yielded; and thus the story ran. 



THE LANDLORDS TALE. 

TAIL REVERE'S RIDE. 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear 

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revc re, 

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five j 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day and year. 



4/2 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN 

He said to his friend, " If the British march 
By land or sea from the town to-night, 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch 
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,-* 
One, if by land, and two, if by sea ; 
And I on the opposite shore will be, 
Beady to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every Middlesex village and farm, 
Por the country-folk to be up and to arm.'* 

Then he said, " Good night !" and with muffled oar 

Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 

Just as the moon rose over the bay, 

Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 

The Somerset, British man-of-war ; 

A phantom-ship, with each mast and spar 

Across the moon like a prison-bar, 

And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 

By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, 
Wanders and watches with eager ears, 
Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack-door, 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers, 
Marching down to their boats on the shore. 

Then he climbed to the tower of the church 
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, 
To the belfry-chamber overhead, 
And startled the pigeons from their perch 
On the sombre rafters, that round him made 
Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 
Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall, 
To the highest window in the wall, 
Where he paused to listen and look down 
A moment on the roofs of the town, 
And the moonlight flowing over all. 

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, 
In their night-encampment on the hill, 
Wrapped in silence so deep and still 
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 






PAUL REVERES RIDE. 473 

The watchful night-wind, as it went. 

Creeping along Irom u-nt to tent, 

And seeming to whisper, " All is well 1" 

A moment, only he feels the- spell 

Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread 

Of the lonely belfry and the dead; 

For suddenly all his thoughts are I 

On a shadowy something l 

Where the river widens to meet ::. ' B — 

A line of black that bends and floats 

On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ri 
Booted and spurred, with a hca\ \ 

On the opposite shore w alk< I eie. 

Now he patted his hoi 

Now gazed at the landscape far and r 

Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, 

And turned and I rthj 

But mostly be watched wit: rcb 

The belfry tower of the Old North Church, 

As it rose above the graves on the hill, 
Lonely and spectral and sombre and -till. 
And lo ! as In- looks, <>:i the belfry's height 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! 
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his .sight 
A second lamp in the belfry bums ! 

A hurry of hoofs in a village Btn 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 

Anil beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet ; 

That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light, 

The fate of a nation was riding that night ; 

And the spark struck out by that steed in his flight, 

Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 

He has left the village and mounted the steep, 

And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, 

Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides 5 

And under the alders, that skirt its edge, 

Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, 

Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. 



474 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN* 

It was twelve by the village clock,, 
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. 
He heard the crowing of the cock, 
And the barking of the farmer's dog, 
And felt the damp of the river fog, 
That rises after the sun goes down. 

It was one by the village clock, 

When he galloped into Lexington. 

He saw the gilded weathercock 

Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 

Gaze at him with a spectral glare, 

As if they already stood aghast 

At the bloody work they would look upon. 

It was two by the village clock, 

When he came to the bridge in Concord town. 

He heard the bleating of the flock, 

And the twitter of birds among the trees, 

And felt the breath of the morning breeze 

Blowing over the meadows brown. 

And one was safe and asleep in his bed 

Who at the bridge would be first to fall, 

Who that day would be lying dead, 

Pierced by a British musket-ball. 

You know the rest. In the books you have read, 
How the British Regulars fired and fled, — 
How the farmers gave them ball for ball, 
From behind each fence and farmyard wall, 
Chasing the red -coats down the lane, 
Then crossing the field to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the roadj 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul Revere ; 

And so through the night went his cry of alarm 

To every Middlesex village and farm, — 

A cry of defiance and not of fear, 

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, 

And a word that shall echo for evermore ! 

For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 

Through all our history, to the last, 






INTER Li 475 

In the hour of darkness and peril and D 
The people will waken and listen to hear 
The hurrying ho 
And the midnight message oi Paul Rei 

LV! 

The Landlord ended thus h: 

Then rising took down from its nail 

The Bword that hung there, dim with dust, 

And cleaving to its sheath with n 

a in the light." 
The Poet Beized it, and exclaimed, 

"It is the b ■• 
Though homespun 
What matter it it be a 
Joyeuse, Colada, Duri&dale, 
roundight, 

Or oilier name thl 

Your ancestor v. bo I ord 

As Colonel of the Volunte 

Mounted upon his old 

Sei □ i. re and th< re and every* h 
To nu- a grander shape appears 

Than old Sir William, or what :. 
Clinking about in foreign* lands 

bis hands, 
And on his head an iron pot !" 

All laughed; the Landlord's face grew red 

As his escutcheon on the wall ; 

He could not comprehend . 

The drit't ot' what the Poe4 

For those who had been fongttl dead 

Were always greatest to hid * 

And he wa m with snrpr 

To see Sir William's plumed 

Brought to a level with the rest, 

And made the subject oi" a jest. 

And this perceiving, to appease 
The Landlord's wrath, the otl 
The Student said, with careless ease, 
"The ladies and the cavaliers, 



47^ r TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 

The arms, the loves, the courtesies, "- 
•The deeds of high emprise, I sing ! 
■ Thus Ariosto says, in words 
That have the stately stride and ring 
Of armed knights and clashing swords. 
Now listen to the tale I bring ; 
Listen ! though not to me belong 
The flowing draperies of his song, 
The words that rouse, the voice that charms. 
The Landlord's tale was one of arms, 
Only a tale of love is mine, 
Blending the human and divine, 
A tale of the Decameron, told 
In Palmieri's garden old, 
By Fiametta, laurel-crowned, 
While her companions lay around, 
And heard the intermingled sound 
Of airs that on their errands sped, 
And wild birds gossiping overhead, 
And lisp of leaves and fountain's fall, 
And her own voice more sweet than all, 
^Telling the tale, which, wanting these, 1 
iPerchance may lose its power to please." 



THE STUDENT'S TALE. 

THE FALCON OF SEK FEDERIGO. 

One summer morning when the sun was hot, 
\ Weary with labour in his garden plot, 
On a rude bench beneath his cottage eaves, 
Ser Federigo sat among the leaves 
Of a huge vine, that with its arms outspread, 
Hung its delicious clusters overhead. 
Below him, through the lovely valley, flowed 
The river Arno, like a winding road, 
And from its banks were lifted high in air 
The spires and roofs of Florence called the Fail j 
To him a marble tomb, that rose above 
His wasted fortunes and his buried love. 






THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO. 477 

For there, in banquet and in tournament 1 , 
His wealth had lavished been, his .substance spent, 
To woo and lose, since ill his wooing sped, 
Monna Giovanna, who his rival wed, 
Yet ever in his fancy reigned supreme, 
The ideal woman of a young man's dream. 

Then he withdrew, in poverty and pain, 
To this small farm, the last of his domain, 
His only comfort and his only care 
To prune his vines, and plant t!. nrj 

His only forester and only goes! 
His falcon, faithful to him, when the rest, 
Whose willing hands had found so light of yore 
The brazen knocker of his palace 
Had now no strength to lilt the wooden latch, 
That entrance gave beneath a roof of thatch. 
Companion of his solitary v. 
Purveyor of his feasts on hoi 
On him this melancholy ma: 
The love with which his nature overlh 

And so the empty-handed wars went round, 
Vacant, though voiceful with prophetic sound] 
And so, that summer morn, he sat and mus I 
With folded, patient hands, as be 
And dreamily before his half-cl< 

Floated the Vision of his lust delight. 
Beside him, motionless, the drowsy bird 
Dreamed of the chase, and in his slumber heard 
The sudden scythe-like sweep of wings, that dare 
The headlong plunge through eddying gulls of air, 
Then, starting broad awake upon his perch, 
Tinkled his bells, like mass-bells in a church, 
And, looking at his master, seemed to say, 
u Ser Federigo, Bhall we hunt to-day ?" 

Ser Federigo thought not of the chase5 
The tender vision of her lovely face 
I will not say he seems to see, he sees 
In the leaf-shadows of the trellises, 
Herself, yet not herself j a lovely child 
With flowing tresses, and eyes wide and wild, 
Coming undaunted up the garden walk, 
And looking not at him, but at the hawk. 



47 8 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

" Beautiful falcon !" said he, "would that I 
Might hold thee on my wrist, or see thee fly !" 

The voice was hers, and made strange echoes start 
Through all the haunted chambers of his heart, 
As an iEolian harp through gusty doors 
Of some old ruin its wild music pours. 
"Who is thy mother, my fair boy ?" he said, 
His hand laid softly on that shining head. 
" Monna Giovanna. — Will you let me stay 
A little while, and with your falcon play ? 
We live there, just beyond your garden wall, 
In the great house behind the poplars tall." 

So he spake on ; and Federigo heard 
As from afar each softly uttered word, 
And drifted onward through the golden gleams 
And shadows of the misty sea of dreams, 
As mariners becalmed through vapours drift, 
And feel the sea beneath them sink and lift, 
And hear far off the mournful breakers roar, 
And voices calling faintly from the shore ! 
Then, waking from his painful reveries, 
He took the little boy upon his knees, 
And told him stories of his gallant bird, 
Till in their friendship he became a third. 

JVTonna Giovanna, widowed in her prime, 

Had come with friends to pass the summer time 

In her grand villa, half-way up the hill, 

O'erlooking Florence, but retired and still ; 

With iron gates, that opened through long lines 

Of sacred ilex and centennial pines, 

And terraced gardens, and broad steps of stone, 

And sylvan deities, with moss o'ergrown, 

And fountains palpitating in the heat, 

And all Val d'Arno stretched beneath its feet. 

Here in seclusion, as a widow may, 

The lovely lady wiled the hours away, 

Pacing in sable robes the statued hall, 

Herself the stateliest statue among all, 

And seeing more and more, with secret jov, 

Her husband risen and living in her boy, 

Till the lost sense of life returned again, 

Not as delight, but as relief from pain. 



THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO. a;9 

Meanwhile the boy, rejoicing in bis strength, 
Stormed down the terraces from length to 1 

reaming peacock chased in hot pu 
And climbed the garden tn 
But his chief pastime was to wan.. 
Of a gerfalcon, soarm- 
Beyond the trees that fringed the gi 
Then downward stooping .. 

And as he gazed lull often wondered he 
Who might the i! 
Until tiiat happy ra< ruing, when 
Master and fa ;und. 

And now a shadow and a terror tell 
On tin- -real bouse, a- Ufa passing-bell 
Tolled from the tower, and filled 
With secret awe, and preternatural 
Tin • . ill, ami d.:\ 

1 with mys 
The mother's heart would not be i 

Her darling seemed to her al: 

And often, sitting by the sufl 

u What can I do 

Al hr>t the silent lip- made no reply, 

But, moved at length by her import i. 

"Give me," he with imploring tone, 

" Ser Federigo's 

Id the astonished n 

could she ask, e'en tor her dark 
Such favour at a luckh band, 

Well knowing that to .. I ommand : 

Well knowing, what all falconers 
In all the land that falcon w 
The master's prM 'on and d( li 

A.nd the sole pursuivant of this p< > r knight. 
But yet, for her child's 
Than give assent, to sopthe his tt 
So promised, and then promising to keep 
Her promise sacred, saw him lull ;. 

The morrow was a bright September morn j 
The earth was beautiful as if new-born ; 
There was that nameless splendour ever) where, 
That wild ^ i in the air, 



TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 
Which makes the passers in the city street 
Congratulate each other as they meet. 
Two lovely ladies, clothed in cloak and hood, 
Passed through the garden gate into the wood, 
Under the lustrous leaves, and through the sheen 
Of dewy sunshine showering down between. 
The one, close-hooded, had the attractive grace 
"Which sorrow sometimes lends a woman's face ; 
Her dark eyes moistened with the mists that roll 
From the gulf-stream of passion in the soul ; 
The other with her hood thrown back, her hair 
Making a golden glory in the air, 
Her cheeks suffused with an auroral blush, 
Her young heart singing louder than the thrush, 
So walked, that morn, through mingled light and shade, 
Each by the other's presence lovelier made, 
Monna Giovanna and her bosom friend, 
Intent upon their errand and its end. 

They found Sir Federigo at his toil, 

Like banished Adam, delving in the soil ; 

And when he looked and these fair women spied, 

The garden suddenly was glorified j 

His long-lost Eden was restored again, 

And the strange river winding through the plain 

No longer was the Arno to his eyes, 

But the Euphrates watering Paradise ! 

Monna Giovanna raised her stately head, 
And with fair words of salutation said : 
" Ser Federigo, we come here as friends, 
Hoping in this to make some poor amends 
For past unkindness. I who ne'er before 
Would even cross the threshold of your door, 
I who in happier days such pride maintained, 
Refused your banquets, and your gifts disdained, 
This morning come, a self-invited guest, 
To put your generous nature to the test, 
And breakfast with you under your own vine." 
To which he answered : " Poor desert of mine, 
Not your unkindness call it, for if aught 
Is good in me of feeling or of thought, 
From you it comes, and this last grace outweighs 
All sorrows, all regrets of other days." 



THE FALCOX OF SER FEDERIGO. 
And after further compliment and talk, 
Among the dahlias in the garden walk 
He left his guests ; and to his cottage turned, 
And as he entered for a moment yearned 
For the lo^t splendours of the days of old, 
The ruby glass, the silver, and the gold, 
And felt how piercing is the sting of pride, 
By want embittered and intensified. 
lie looked about him for some means or way 
To keep this unexpected holiday \ 
Searched every cupboard, and then searched again, 
Summoned the maid, who came, but came in 
"The Signor did not hunt to-day," she 
"There's nothing in the house but wine and bread." 

Then suddenly the drowsy falcuii shook 

His little bells with that BBgacious look, 
Which said, as plain BJ to the ear, 

'* If anything is wanting, I am h. 

Y( ^, ( eerything is wanting, gallanl 

The master seized thee without further v 

Like thine own lure, lie whirled thee round ; ah me! 

The pomp and flutter of brave falconry, 

The bells, the jesses, the bright scarlet h 

The flight and the pursuit o'er field and wood, 

All these for evermore are ended now ; 

No longer victor, but the victim thou ! 

Then on the board a snow-white cloth he spread, 
Laid on iu wooden dish the Loaf of bread, 

Brought purple grapes with autumn sunshine hot, 

The fragrant peach, the juicy bergamot ; 

Then in the midst a ilask of wine he placed, 
And with autumnal rlowers the banquet graced. 
Ser Federigo, would not these suffice 

Without thy falcon stutfed with cloves and spice? 

When all was ready, and the courtly dame 

With her companion to the cottage came, 

Upon Ser Federigo's brain there fell 

The wild enchantment of a magic spell ; 

The room they entered, mean and low and small, 

Was changed into a sumptuous banquet-hall, 



TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 
With fanfares by aerial trumpets blown 5 
The rustic chair she sat on was a throne 5 
He ate celestial food, and a divine 
Flavour was given to his country wine, 
And the poor falcon, fragrant with his spice, 
A peacock was, or bird of paradise ! 

When the repast was ended, they arose 
And passed again into the garden-close. 
Then said the Lady, " Far too well I know, 
Remembering still the days of long ago, 
Though you betray it not, with what surprise 
You see me here in this familiar wise. 
You have no children, and you cannot guess 
What anguish, what unspeakable distress 
A mother feels, whose child is lying ill, 
Nor how her heart anticipates his will. 
And yet for this you see me lay aside 
All womanly reserve and check of pride, 
And ask the thing most precious in your sight, 
Your falcon, your sole comfort and delight, 
Which, if you find it in your heart to give, 
My poor, unhappy boy perchance may live." 

Ser Federigo listens, and replies, 
With tears of love and pity in his eyes : 
" Alas, dear lady ! there can be no task 
So sweet to me, as giving when you ask. 
One little hour ago, if I had known 
This wish of yours, it would have been my own. 
But thinking in what mamier I could best 
Do honour to the presence of my guest, 
I deemed that nothing worthier could be 
Than what most dear and precious was to me, 
And so my gallant falcon breathed his last 
To furnish forth this morning our repast." 

In mute contrition, mingled with dismay, 
The gentle lady turned her eyes away, 
Grieving that he such sacrifice should make, 
And kill his falcon for a woman's sake, 
Yet feeling in her heart a woman's pride, 
That nothing she could ask for was denied ; 
Then took her leave, and passed out at the gate 
With footsteps slow, and soul disconsolate. 



INTERLUDE. ^ 

Three days went by, and lo ! a passing-bell 
Tolled from the little chapel in the dell ; 
Ten strokes Ser Federigo heard, and said, 
Breathing a prayer, u Alas ! her child is dead !" 

Three months went by, and lo ! a merrier chime 
Rang from the chapel bells at Ghristmaa time ; 
The cottage was deserted, and no more 
Ser Federigo sat beside its door. 

But now, with servitors to do his will, 

Jn the grand villa, halt-way up the hill, 

Sat at the Christmas feast, and at his uda 

Monna Giovanna, his beloved bride, 

j\e\er BO beautiful, BO kind, so fair, 

Enthroned once more in the old rustic I 

High-perched upon the hick of which there stood 

The image of a falcon carved iu a 

And underneath the inscription, with a date, 

u All things come round to him who will but wait." 



INTERLUDE. 

Soon as the story reached its end, 
One, over eager to commend, 

Crowned it with injudicious praise; 

And then the voice of blame found vent, 

And tanned the ember» of dissenl 
Into a somewhat lively blaze. 

The Theologian shook his head ; 

"These old Italian tales," he said, 

" From the much-praised Decameron down 

Through all the rabble of the re^t, 

Are either trifling, dull, or lewd; 

The gossip of a neighbourhood 

In some remote provincial town, 

A scandalous chronicle at best ! 

They seem to me a stagnant fen, 

Grown rank with rushes and with reeds, 

Where a white lily now and then, 

Blooms in the midst of noxious weeds 

And deadly nightshade on its bank-." 

To this the Student straight replied: 

" For the white lily, many thanks ! 



484 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN 

One should not say, with too much pride, 
Fountain, I will not drink of thee ! 
Nor were it grateful to forget, 
That from these reservoirs and tanks 
Even imperial Shakspeare drew 
His Moor of Venice and the Jew, 
And Romeo and Juliet, 
And many a famous comedy." 

Then a long pause 5 till some one said, 
"An angel is flying overhead !" 
At these words spake the Spanish Jew, 
And murmured with an inward breath : 
" God grant, if what you say is true, 
It may not be the Angel of Death !" 

And then another pause ; and then, 

Stroking his beard, he said again : 

" This brings back to my memory 

A story in the Talmud told, 

That book of gems, that book of gold, 

Of wonders many and manifold, 

A tale that often comes to me, 

And fills my heart, and haunts my brain 5 

And never wearies nor grows old." 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. 

THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI. 

Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read 

A volume of the Law, in which it said, 

" No man shall look upon my face and live." 

And as he read, he prayed that God would give 

His faithful servant grace with mortal eye 

To look upon His face and yet not die. 

Then fell a sudden shadow on the page, 
And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim with age, 
He saw the Angel of Death before him stand, 
Holding a naked sword in his right hand. 



THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI. 48 5 

Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man, 
Yet through his veins a chill of terror ran. 
With trembling voice he said, " What wilt thou here r" 
The Angel answered, " Lo ! the time draws 
When thou must die ; yet first, by God's do 
Whate'er thou askest shall be granted thee. " 
Replied the Rabbi, " Let these living ( 
First look upon my place in Paradise.' 
Then said the Angel, " Come with me and look." 
Rabbi Ben Levi closed the sacred book, 
And rising, and uplifting his grey bead, 
" Give me thy sword," he to the A 
" Lest thou should'st fall upon me by the wav." 
The Angel smiled and hastened to ol 
Then led him forth to the Celestial 1 
And set him on the wall, whence, gazing down, 
Rabbi Ben Levi, with his living e 
Might look upon his place in Paradise. 

Then straight into the city of the Lord 

The Rabbi leaped with the Death-Angel'-, sword, 

And through the Streets there ftwept a sudden breath 

Of something there unknown, which men call death. 

Meanwhile the Angel stayed without, and cried, 

" Come back !" To which the Rabbi's voice replied. 

M No! in the name of God, whom I adore, 

I swear that hence I will depart no more!" 

Then all the Angels cried, " O Holy One, 
See what the son of Levi here has done ! 
The kingdom of Heaven he takes by violence, 
And in Thy name refuses to go hence !" 
The Lord replied, "My Angels, be not wroth; 
Did e'er the son of Levi break his oath ? 
Let him remain; for he with mortal eye 
Shall look upon my face and yet not die." 

Beyond the outer wall the Angel of Death 

Heard the great voice, and said, with panting breath ; 

" Give back the sword, and let me go my way." 

Whereat the Rabbi paused, and answered, '* Nay ! 

Anguish enough already has it caused 

Among the sons of men." And while he paused 

He heard the awful mandate of the Lord 

Resounding through the air, " Give back the sword !" 



486 TALES OF A WA YS1DE INN 

The Rabbi bowed his head in silent prayer ; 
Then said he to the dreadful Angel, <f Swear, 
No human eye shall look on it again j 
But when thou takest away the souls of men, 
Thyself unseen, and with an unseen sword, 
Thou wilt perform the bidding of the Lord." 

The Angel took the sword again, and swore, 
And walks on earth unseen for evermore. 



INTERLUDE. 

He ended : and a kind of spell 

Upon the silent listeners fell. 

His solemn manner and his words 

Had touched the deep, mysterious chords, 

That vibrate in each human breast 

Alike, but not alike confessed. 

The spiritual world seemed near; 

And close above them, full of fear, 

Its awful adumbration passed, 

A luminous shadow, vague and vast. 

They almost feared to look, lest there, 

Embodied from the impalpable air, 

They might behold the Angel stand, 

Holding the sword in his right hand. 

At last, but in a voice subdued, 

Not to disturb their dreamy mood, 

Said the Sicilian : ' c While you spoke, 

Telling your legend marvellous, 

Suddenly in my memory woke 

The thought of one, now gone from us,— 

An old Abate, meek and mild, 

My friend and teacher, when a child, 

Who sometimes in those days of eld 

The legend of an Angel told, 

Which ran, if I remember thus/" 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. ^ s 7 

THE SICILIAN'S TALE. 

KINO ROBERT 01 SICILY. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope L'rbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
Apparelled in magnificent attire, 

With retinue of many a knight am. squire, 

On St. John's Bve, at vespers, proudlj -at 

And heard the priesti (ham the Magnificat. 

And as he listened, o er and i 

Repeated, like a burden or retrain, 

1 [e caught the words, 

J)r sale, (/ exaliavii huwulesi" 

And slowly lilting up his kingly I 

He to a learned clerk betide h;n. 

u What mean these words?" The clerk made answer meet, 

' I le has put down ti ""in their seat, 
Ami has exalted them oi Li 
Thereat King Robert mutt< illy, 

v. 1 11 that inch sedition mng 

Only by priests and in the Latin tongue: 
For unto priflStl and people he it knout). 

There u no power « an push me from my throne!" 

And leaning hack. In- yawned and tell asleep. 

Lulled by the chant monotonous anil deep. 

When he awoke, it was already D 

The church' W8S empty, and then- was no light, 

Save where the lamps, that glimmered tew and k.'nt, 
Lighted a little space before tame saint. 

He Started from his seat and gazed around. 
Hut Baw no living thing and heard no sound* 
I le -roped towards the door, but it was lock d ; 
He cried aloud, and listened, and then knot I 
And ottered awful threateninga and complaints, 

And imprecations Upon men and saints. 

The sounds re-echoed from tin- root and walls 

As it dead priest nin S m { hc\r stalls! 

At length the sexton, hearing from without 
The tumult of the knocking and the shout, 
And thinking thu of prayer, 

Came with his lantern, asking, " Who is there?" 



488 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN 

Half-choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, 
" Open : 'tis I, the King ! Art thou afraid ? " 
The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, 
"This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!" 
Turned the great key and flung the portal wide ; 
A man rushed by him at a single stride, 
Haggard, half-naked, without hat or cloak, 
Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, 
But leaped into the blackness of the night, 
And vanished like a spectre from his sight. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
Despoiled of his magnificent attire, 
Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire, 
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, 
Strode on and thundered at the palace gate ; 
Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage 
To right and left each seneschal and page, 
And harried up the broad and sounding stair, 
His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. 
From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed ; 
Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, 
Until at last he reached the banquet-room, 
Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. 
There on the dais sat another king, 
Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring, 
King Robert's self in features, form, and height, 
But all transfigured with angelic light ! 
It was an Angel ; and his presence there 
With a divine effulgence filled the air, 
An exaltation, piercing the disguise, 
Though none the hidden Angel recognise. 

A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, 

The throne] ess monarch on the Angel gazed, 

Who met his looks of anger and surprise 

With the divine compassion of his eyes ; 

Then said, " Who art thou ? and why com'st thou here ? M 

To which King Robert answered, with a sneer, 

"I am the King, and come to claim my own 

From an impostor, who usurps my throne !" 

And suddenly, at these audacious words, 

Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords j 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 485 

The Angel answered, with unruffled brow, 
"Nay, not the King, but the King's Jitter; thou 
Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape, 
And for thy counsellor shah lead an ape ; 
Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, 
And wait upon my henchmen in the hall !" 

Deal to King Robert's threats and eric.-, and pray 
They thrust him from the hall and down tfa 

A group of tittering pages ran before, 

And as they opened wide the folding-door, 

His heart tailed, for he heard, with strange alarms, 

The boisterous laughter of the men-at-i 

And all the vaulted chamber roar and 1 

With the mock plaudits of u Long live the K 

morning, waking with the d am, 

h mself, '" 1' v. IS a dream !" 

But the straw rustled as he turned bis I 

There w< re the cap and bells !»< side bis bed, 

Around him rose the b< 

Close by, tb 

And in the corner, a revolting id 

Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape. 

It was no dream j the world he 1 neb 

Had turned to dust and ashes at bis t' .. 

Days came and went ; and now returned again 

ily the old Saturnian n 
Under the Angel's governance benign 

The bappy island danced with corn and wine, 
And deep within the mountain's burning bi 

Enceladus, the giant, was at rest, 
Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fete, 

Sullen and silent and discom 

Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear, 
With looks bewildered and a vacant stare. 
Close shaven above the e.ir-, as monk*, are shorn, 
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, 
His only friend the ape, his only food 
What others left, — be still was unsubdued. 
And when the Angel met him on his way, 
And hah' in earnest, half in jest, would say, 
Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel 
The \el\ et scabbard held a sword of steel, 



490 TALES OF A WA YS1DE INN. 

" Art thou the King ? " the passion of his woe 
Burst from him in resistless overflow, 
And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling 
The haughty answer back, " I am, I am the King ! " 

Almost three years were ended 5 when there came 

Ambassadors of great repute and name 

From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 

Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane 

By letter summoned them forthwith to come 

On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 

The Angel with great joy received his guests, 

And gave them presents of embroidered vests, 

And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined, 

And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. 

Then he departed with them o'er the sea 

Into the lovely land of Italy, 

Whose loveliness was more resplendent made 

By the mere passing of that cavalcade, 

With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir 

Of jewelled bridle and of golden spnr. 

And lo ! among the menials, in mock state, 

Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait, 

His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind, 

The solemn ape demurely perched behind, 

King Robert rode, making huge merriment 

In all the country towns through which they went. 

The Pope received them with great pomp, and blare 

Of bannered trumpets, in Saint Peter's square, 

Giving his benediction and embrace, 

Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 

While with congratulations and with prayers 

He entertained the Angel unawares, 

Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd, 

Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, 

" I am the King ! Look, and behold in me 

Robert, your brother, King of Sicily ! 

This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, 

Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 

Do you not know me ? does no voice within 

Answer my cry, and say we are akin ?" 

The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, 

Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene ; 






KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 49c 

The Emperor, laughing, said, " It is strange sport 
To keep a madman for thy Fool a1 court!" 
And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace 
Was hustled back among the populace. 

In solemn state the Holy Week went by, 
And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the ^ky ; 
The presence of the Angel, with is light, 
Before the sun ro^e, made the city bright, 
And with new fervour tilled the hearts of men, 
Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. 

Even the Jester, on his bed ofstraw, 
With haggard own the unwonted splendour 
He fell within a power nnfell bei 

And, kneeling humbly on his chamber 1 

He heard the rushing innents ol the Lord 

Sweep through 1 . ird. 

And now tl ling, and once more 

Valmond returning to the Danul 
Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again 
The Land 1 splendent with his train, 

Flashing along ih-- towns of Italy 
Unto Salerno, and from then- bj 

And when once more within Palermo's wall, 

And, seated on the throne in his great hall, 
He heard the Angelus from 1 

the better world conversed with 

He beckoned to King Robert to dr;e 

And with a le the rpsl 1 

And when tl y wen- alone, 

" Art thou the King ?" Then bowing down his head, 

King Robert crossed both bands upon his bn 

And meekly answered him : 'Thou knowest best! 

My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, 

And in some cloister's school of penitence, 

Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven, 

AValk barefoot, till my guilty soul is shriven !" 

The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face 

A holy light illumined all the place, 

And through the open window, loud and clear, 

They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, 

Above the stir and tumult of the street : 

"He has put down the mighty from their seats 



49 a TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 

And has exalted them of low degree !" 
And through the chant a second melody 
Rose like the throbbing of a single string : 
(< I am an Angel, and thou art the King !" 

King Robert, who was standing near the throne, 

Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone ! 

But all apparelled as in days of old, 

With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold ; 

And when his courtiers came, they found him there 

Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. 



INTERLUDE. 

And then the blue-eyed Norseman told 

A Saga of the days of old. 

"There is," said he, "a wondrous book 

Of Legends in the old Norse tongue 

Of the dead kings of Norroway, — 

Legends that once were told or sung 

In many a smoky fireside nook 

Of Iceland, in the ancient day, 

By wandering Saga-man or Scald ; 

Heimskringla is the volume called ; 

And he who looks may find therein 

The story that I now begin." 

And in each pause the story made 

Upon his violin he played, 

As an appropriate interlude, 

Fragments of old Norwegian tunes 

That bound in one the separate runes, 

And held the mind in perfect mood, 

Entwining and encircling all 

The strange and antiquated rhymes 

With melodies of olden times j 

As over some half- ruined wall, 

Disjointed and about to fall, 

Fresh woodbines climb and interlace, 

And keep the loosened stones in place* 



THE SAGA OF KLXG OLAF. 493 

THE MUSICIANS TALE. 



THE SAGA 01" KING OLAF. 



THE CHALLENGE OP THOB. 



I AM the God Thor, 
J am the War God, 
I am the Thunderer ! 

Here in my Northland, 
My fastness and fortress, 
Reign I lor ever ! 

I [ere amid icebergs 
Rule I the nations ; 

This is my hammer, 
Miolner the mighty j 
Giants and Borcerers 

Cannot withstand it! 

These are the gauntlets, 
Wherewith I wield it, 
And hurl it afar offj 
.This is my girdle; 
Whenever I brace it, 
Strength is redoubled ! 

The light thou beholdest 

Stream through the heavens 
In Hashes of crimson, 



Is but my red beard 
Blown by the night-wind, 
Affrighting the nations ! 

Jove is my brother ; 

Mine eyes are the lightning j 

The wheels of my chariot 

Roll in the thunder, 

The blows of my hammer 

Ring in the earthquake ! 

Force rules the world still, 
Has ruled it, shall rule it ; 
Meekness is weakn*>s. 

Strength is triumphant, 

Over the whole earth 
Still is it Thor's-Day ! 

Thou art a God too, 
O Galilean ! 
And thus single-handed 
Unto the combat, 
Gauntlet or Gospel, 
Here I defy thee ! 



II. 



KING OLAF S RETURN. 



And King Olaf heard the cry, 
Saw the red light in the sky, 

Laid his hand upon his sword, 
As he leaned upon the railing. 
And his ship went sailing, sailing 

Northward intoDrontheim nord. 



There he stood as one who 

dreamed j 
And the red light glanced and 
gleamed 
On the armour that he wore j 
And he shouted, as the rifted 



494 



TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 

Then his cruisings o'er the seas.. 
Westward to the Hebrides, 

And to Scilly's rocky shore -, 
And the hermit's cavern dismal, 
Christ's great name and rites bap- 
tismal, 
In the ocean's rush and roar. 

All these thoughts of love and strife 
Glimmered through his lurid life, 

As the star's intenser light 
Through the red flames o'er him 

trailing, 
As his ships went sailing, sailing, 

Northward in the summer night. 

Trained for either camp or court, 
Skilful in each manly sport, 

Young and beautiful and tall ! 
Art of warfare, craft of chases, 
Swimming, skating, snow-shoe 
races, 

Excellent alike in all. 

When at sea, with all his rowers, 
He along the bending oars 

Outside of his ship could run. 
He the Smalsor Horn ascended, 
And his shining shield suspended 

On its summit, like a sun. 

On the ship-rails he could stand, 
Wield his sword with either hand, 

And at once two javelins throw ; 
At all feasts where ale was strongest 
Sat the merry monarch longest, 

First to come and last to go. 

Norway never yet had seen 
One so beautiful of mien, 

One so royal in attire, 
When in arms completely furnished, 
Harness gold-inlaid and burnished, 

Mantle like a flame of fire. 



Streamers o'er him shook and 
shifted, 
" I accept thy challenge, Thor !" 

To avenge his father slain, 
And reconquer realm and reign, 

Came the youthful Olaf home, 
Through the midnight sailing, sail- 
ing, 
Listening to the wild wind's wailing, 

And the dashing of the foam. 

To his thoughts the sacred name 
Of his mother Astrid came, 

And the tale she oft had told 
Of her flight by secret passes 
Through the mountains and mo- 
rasses, 

To the home of Hakon old. 

Then strange memories crowded 

back 
Of Queen Gunhild's wrath and 
wrack, 
And a hurried flight by sea ; 
Of grim Vikings, and their rapture 
In the sea-fight, and the capture, 
And the life of slavery. 

How a stranger watched his face 
In the Esthonian market-place, 

Scanned his features one by one, 
Saying, "We should know each 

other; 
I am Sigurd, Astrid's brother, 

Thou art Olaf, Astrid's son !" 

Then as Queen Allogia's page, 
Old in honours, young in age, 

Chief of all her men-at-arms j 
Till vague whispers, and mysterious., 
Reached King Valdemar, the im- 
perious, 

Filling him with strange alarms. 



HE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 495 

Thus came Olaf to his own, And he answered, while the rifted 



When upon the night-wind blown 
Passed that cry akuig the 

shore ; 



: ws o'er him shook and 
p ihy challenge, Thor !" 



III. 

THORA OP RIMOL. 

"Thora of Rimol ! hi : 
Danger and shame an ide me! 

For Olaf the King is hunting me 
Through held and forest, through thorp and town!" 
us cried Jarl Hal. 
To Thoraj men. 

on Jarl ! In: 
her shall shame nor death come near t' 
be hiding-nl 
Is the 1 he swine in the 

Thus to Jarl I! 

Inora, the t . -men. 

So Hakon Jarl and hi 
Crouched in the cave, than a thin- 
mail, 

" 

. ng Jarl Hal 

men. 

and honoured shall b 
The head of 1 Lak a Jarl sh 

Hakon heard him, and Karker the slave, 
Through the of the darksome 

Alone in her eh. 

Wept Thora, the fairest of women. 

Said Karker. the crafty. '*' I will not slay thee! 
For all the ! I I will never In :• 

"Then why dosl thou turn so pale, O churl, 
And then again black as the earth?" said the Earl. 

More pale and more faithful 

Was Thora, the fairest of women. 



496 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 

From a dream in the night the thrall started, saying, 
"Round my neck a gold ring King Olaf was laying!" 
And Hakon answered, " Beware of the king ! 
He will lay round thy neck a blood-red ring." 
At the ring on her finger 
Gazed Thora, the fairest of women. 

At daybreak slept Hakon, with sorrows encumbered, 
But screamed and drew up his feet as he slumbered - } 
The thrall in the darkness plunged with his knife. 
And the Earl awakened no more in this life. 

But wakeful and weeping 

Sat Thora, the fairest of women. 

At Nidarholm the priests are all singing, 
Two ghastly heads on the gibbet are swinging ; 
One is Jarl Hakon's and one is his thrall's, 
And the people are shouting from windows and wails -, 
While alone in her chamber 
Swoons Thora, the fairest of women. 



IV. 

ftUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY 

Queen Si grid the Haughty sat proud and aloft 
In her chamber, that looked over meadow and croft. 

Heart's dearest, 

Why dost thou sorrow so ? 

The floor with tassels of fir was besprent, 
Filling the room with their fragrant scent. 

She heard the birds sing, she saw the sun shine, 
The air of summer was sweeter than wine. 

Like a sword without scabbard the bright river lay 
Between her own kingdom and Norroway. 

But Olaf the King had sued for her hand, 

The sword would be sheathed, the river be spanned. 

Her maidens were seated around her knee, 
Working bright figures in tapestry. 






THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 49; 

And one was singing the ancient rune 
Of Brynhilda's love and the wrath of Gudrun. 

And through it, and round it, and over it all 
Sounded incessant the waterfall. 

The Queen in her hand held a ring of gold, 
From the door of Lade's Temple old. 

King Olaf had sent her this wedding gift, 

But her thoughts as arrows were keen and swift. 

She had given the ring to her goldsmiths twain, 
Who smiled as they handed it back again. 

And Sigrid the Queen in her haughty way, 
Said, u Why do you Bmile, my goldsmiths, - 

And they answered : " Queen ! if the truth must be I 
The ring is of copper, and not of gold!" 

The lightning flashed o'er her forehead and cheeks 
She only murmured, she did not i\ 

" If in his gifts he can faithli 

There will be no gold in his love to me." 

A footstep was beard on the outer 
And in Strode King Olaf with royal air. 

He kissed the Queen's hand, and he whispered of love, 

And .swore to be true as the Stars are ab 

But she smiled with contempt as she answen d : " C) King, 
AVill you swear it, as Odin once swore, on the ring?" 

And the King : K O speak not of Odin to me, 
The wife of King Olaf a Christian must be." 

Looking straight at the King, with her level I 
She said, " I keep true to my faith and my vows." 

Then the face of King Olaf was darkened with gloom, 
He rose in his anger and strode through the room. 

"Why then should I care to have thee?" he said, — 
"A faded old woman, a heathenish jade !" 

His zeal was stronger than fear or love, 

And he struck the Queen in the face with his glove. 



TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 
Then forth from the chamber in anger he fled, 
And the wooden stairway shook with his tread. 

Queen Sigrid the Haughty said under her breathy 
"This insult, King Olaf, shall be thy death ! 

Heart's dearest, 

Why does thou sorrow so ? 



V. 



THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS. 



Now from all King Olafs farms 

His men-at-arms 
Gathered on the Eve of Easter ; 
To his house at Angvalds-ness 

Fast they press, 
Drinking with the royal feaster. 

Loudly through the wide-flung door, 

Came the roar 
Of the sea upon the Skerry ; 
And its thunder loud and near 

Reached the ear, 
Mingling with their voices merry. 

" Hark !" said Olaf to his Scald, 

Halfred the Bald, 
" Listen to that song, and learn it ! 
Half my kingdom would I give, 

As I live, 
If by such songs you would earn it ! 

" For of all the runes and rhymes 

Of all times. 
Best I like the ocean's dirges, 
When the old harper heaves and 
rocks, 

His hoary locks 
Flowing and flashing in the surges!" 

Halfred answered : C! I am called 

The Unappalled ! 
Nothing hinders me or daunts me. 



I Hearken to me, then, O King, 

While I sing 
The great Ocean song that haunt: 
me." 

li I will hear your song sublime 

Some other time," 
Says the drowsy monarch, yawning 
And retires ; each laughing guest 

Applauds the jest ; 
Then they sleep till day is dawning 

Pacing up and down the yard, 

King Olafs guard 
; Saw the sea-mist slowly creeping 
I O'er the sands, and up the hill, 

Gathering still 
Round the house where they wen 
sleeping. 

It was not the fog he saw, 

Nor misty flaw, 
That above the landscape brooded 
It was Eyvind Kallda's crew 

Of warlocks blue, 
With their caps of darkness hooded 

Round and round the house theygc 

Weaving slow 
Magic circles to encumber 
And imprison in their ring 

Olaf the King, 
As he helpless lies in slumber. 






OF KING OLAF. 499 

Seizing all the warlock band 

Foot and hand 
On the Skeny's rocks they bound 
them. 



Blinded by the light that glared, 

They groped and - 
rlound about with steps unsteady: 
t^Voni his window Olaf gazed, 

And, amazed, 

' Who arc these strange people:" 
said he. 

' Eyvind Kallda and his men!" 

Answered then 
rom the yard a sturdy farmer j 
Miile the men-at-arms apace 

Filled the pl.i v, 
lusily buckling on their armour. 

Vum the gates they saiBed forth* 

South and north, 
coured the island coasts around 
them. 



And at eve the King again 

Called hi-, train, 
And, with all the candles but 
Silent sat and heard once m 

The sullen 
Ol" tiie ocean tide, return 

Its and cries or' wild despair 
Filled the air, 
GrOWfl :ud: 

Then the bursting surge alone 

■ D ; — 

Thus the sorcerers Were christened! 

( I s aid, your song sublime, 

Haf: "it will cheer 

Said the Scald, with pallid < h 

" 1 of Shrieks 

Sings too loud tor you to hear me !" 



VI. 

THE WRAITH OF ODIN. 

The guests were loud, the ale was strong, 
King Olaf feasted late and long; 
The hoary Scalds together sang; 
O'erhead the smoky rafters rang. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogeisang. 

The door swung wide, with creak and din; 
A blast of cold night-air came in, 
And on the threshold shivering stood 
A one-ewd guest, with cloak and hood. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogeisang. 

The King exclaimed, " O graybeard pale ! 
Come warm thee with this cup of ale." 



5oo TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN 

The foaming draught the old man quaffed, 
The noisy guests looked on and laughed. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

Then spake the King : " Be not afraid -, 
Sit here by me." The guest obeyed, 
And, seated at the table, told 
Tales of the sea, and Sagas old. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

And ever, when the tale was o'er, 
The King demanded yet one more ; 
Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said, 
"'Tis late, O King, and time for bed." 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

The King retired ; the stranger-guest 
Followed and entered with the rest -, 
The lights were out, the pages gone, 
But still the garrulous guest spake on. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

As one who from a volume reads, 
He spake of heroes and their deeds, 
Of lands and cities he had seen, 
And stormy gulfs that tossed between. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

Then from his lips in music rolled 
The Havamal of Odin old, 
With sounds mysterious as the roar 
Of billows on a distant shore. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

"Do we not learn from runes and rhymes 
Made by the gods in elder times, 
And do not still the great Scalds teach 
That silence better is than speech?" 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

Smiling at this, the King replied, 
" Thy lore is by thy tongue belied j 
For never was I so enthralled 
Either by Saga-man or Scald." 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 
The Bishop said, " Late hours we keep ! 
Night wanes, King! 'tis time tor bleep!" 
Then .slept the King, and when he woke 
The guest was gone, the morning broke. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

They found the doors securely barred, 
They found the watch-dog in the yard, 
There was no foot-print in the gi 

And none had seen the stranger pass. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

King Olaf crossed himself and said: 

11 1 know that Odin th< ( .lead; 

- tin- triumph of our Faith, 

The o ranger was his wraith." 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogekang. 

VII. 

IRON-BEARD. 

Olak the King, one summer morn. 
Blew a blast on his bugle-horn, 
Sending his signal through the land of Drontlltim. 

And to the Hus-Ting held at Merc 
(lathered the farmers tar and near, 
With their war weapons ready to Confront him. 

Ploughing under the morning star, 
Old Iron-Beard in Yriar 
Heard the summons, chuckling with a low laugh. 

He wiped the sweat-drops from his brow, 
Unharnessed his horses from the plough, 
And clattering came on horseback to King Olaf. 

He was the churliest of the churls ; 
Little he eared for king or earls ; 
Bitter as home-brewed ale were Ins foaming passions. 

Hodden-gray was the garb he wore, 
And by the Hammer of Thor he swore ; 
He hated the narrow town, and all its fashions. 



502 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

But he loved the freedom of his farm, 
His ale at night, by the fireside warm,, 
Gudrun his daughter, with her flaxen tresses, 

He loved his horses and his herds, 
The smell of the earth, and the song of birds, 
His well-filled barns, his brook with its watercresses. 

Huge and cumbersome was his frame ; 
His beard, from which he took his name, 
Frosty and fierce, like that of Hymer the Giant. 

So at the Hus-Ting he appeared, 
The farmer of Yriar, Iron-Beard, 
On horseback, with an attitude defiant. 

And to King Oiaf he cried aloud, 
Out of the middle of the crowd, 
That tossed about him like a stormy oce.m •: 

" Such sacrifices shalt thou bring, 
To Odin and to Trior, O King, 
As other kings have done in their devotion !" 

King Olaf answered : " I command 
This land to be a Christian land ; 
Here is my Bishop who the folk baptizes ! 

" But if you ask me to restore 
Your sacrifices, stained with gore, 
Then will I offer human sacrifices ! 

" Not slaves and peasants shall they be, 
But men of note and high degree, 
Such men as Orm of Lyra and Kar of Gryting !" 

Then to the Temple strode he in, 
And loud behind him heard the din 
Of his men-at-arms and the peasants fiercely fighting. 

There in their Temple, carved in wood, 
The image of great Odin stood, 
And other gods, with Thor supreme among them. 

King Olaf smote them with the blade 
Of his huge war-axe, gold-inlaid, 
And downward shattered to the pavement flung them. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 
At the same moment rose without, 
From the ■ croud, a .shout, 

A mingled sound of triumph and ui' wailing. 

And there upon the trampled plain 
The farmer Iron-Beard lay 
Midway between the assailed and the assail 

King Olaf from the d 
" ( ye between two things, my folk. 

To be baptiz* . nter !" 

And - 

"O King, b iptfze as with thy Ji< 
ill the Droj 

! in uann . 

In the old . 

And as .1 I 

K 
And thus in peace 



5°3 



VIII. 



GUP 

Dn King Olafs bridal night this? 

light, Told will be tl 

icross the cl .den with the chill of death 

Its tide of dreams. ta breath. 



r\t Che fatal midnight hour, 
[Vhen all evil things have p 
la the glimmer of the moon 
ids Gudrun. 

against her heaving hi 
something in her hand 
Like an icicle, 

[s cold and keen. 

rn are fixed her eves 
■ her murdered father I 

\:id a voice rem< te and d 
She seems to 1 



he drifting snow she SM 
To the epoch wh 
Suddenly lie wakes and stirs, 
meet hers. 

'• What is that," I .id, 

br hta ivet . 
Wherefore standesl thou so white 
In pale moonlight r" 

"*T;s the hodkin that I 
When at night f hind my hair; 
falling on the floor; 

re." 



5°4 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN 



" Forests have ears, and fields have 

eyes ; 
Often treachery lurking lies 
Underneath the fairest hair ! 

Gudrun beware!" 



Ere the earliest peep of morn 
Blew King Olaf s bugle-horn ; 
And for ever sundered ride 
Bridegroom and bride ! 



IX. 

THANGBRAND THE PRIEST. 

Short of stature, large of limb, 

Burly face and russet beard, 
All the women stared at him, 
When in Iceland he appeared. 
" Look !" they said, 
With nodding head, 
" There goes Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest.' 

All the prayers he knew by rote, 

He could preach like Chrysostome, 
From the fathers he could quote, 
He had even been at Rome. 
A learned clerk, 
A man of mark, 
Was this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. 

He was quarrelsome and loud, 

And impatient of control, 
Boisterous in the market crowd, 
Boisterous at the wassail-bowl, 
Everywhere 

Would drink and swear, 
Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. 

In his house this malecontent 

Could the King no longer bear, 
So to Iceland he was sent 

To convert the heathen there, 
And away 
One summer day 
Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. 

There in Iceland, o'er their books 
Pored the people day and night, 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 505 

But he did not like their looks, 
Nor the songs they used to write. 
" All this rhyme 
Is waste of tin: 
Grumbled Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. 

To the alehouse, where he sat, 
Came the Scalds and Saga-men j 

Is it to be wondered at, 
That they quarrelled now and then, 

When o'er hifl beer 

Began to leer 
Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest ; 

All the folk in Al ft a fiord 

Boasted of their island grand j 
Saying in a single word, 
" Iceland is the finest land 
That the sun 
Doth slime upon !" 
Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. 

And he answered: "Wl it's the use 

Of this bragging up ami down, 

When three women and one goose 

.Make a market in your town !" 

Every Scald 

Satires sera 

On poor Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. 

Something worse they did than that ; 

And what vexed him most of all 
Was a figure in shovel hat, 
Drawn in charcoal on the wall ; 

With words that go 

Sprawling below. 
"This is Thangbrand, Olafs Priest." 

Hardly knowing what he did, 

Then he smote them might and main, 

Thorvald Veile and Yeterlid 

Lay there in the alehouse -lain. 

" To-day we are gold, 

To-morrow mould !" 

Muttered Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. 



506 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN.' 
Much in fear of axe and rope, 

Back to Norway sailed he then, 
"O, King Olaf! little hope 

Is there of these Iceland men !" 
Meekly said, 
With bending head, 
Pious Thangbrand, Olaf s Priest. 



X. 



BAUD THE STRONG. 



" All the old gods are dead, 
All the wild warlocks fled ; 
B ut theWhite Christ lives and reigns, 
And through my wide domains 
His Gospel shall be spread !" 
On the Evangelists 
Thus swore King Olaf. 

But still in dreams of the night 
Beheld he the crimson light, 
And heard the voice that defied 
Him who was crucified, 
And challenged him to the fight. 
To Sigurd the Bishop 
King Olaf confessed it. 

And Sigurd the Bishop said, 
" The old gods are not dead, 
For the great Thor still reigns, 
And among the Jarls and Thanes 
The old witchcraft still is spread." 
Thus to King Olaf 
Said Sigurd the Bishop. 

" Far north in the Salten Fiord, 
By rapine, fire, and sword, 
Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong; 
All the Godoe Isles belong- 



To him and his heathen horde." 
Thus went on speaking 
Sigurd the Bishop. 

" A warlock, a wizard is he, 
And lord of the wind and the sea ; 
And whichever way he sails, 
He has ever favouring gales, 
By his craft in sorcery." 

Here the sign of the cross made 

Devoutly King Olaf. 

" With rites that we both abhor, 
He worships Odin and Thor; 
So it cannot yet be said, 
That all the old gods are dead, 
And the warlocks are no more," 
Flushing with anger 
Said Sigurd the Bishop. 

Then King Olaf cried aloud : 
" I will talk with this mighty Baud, 
And along the Salten Fiord 
Preach the Gospel with my sword 
Or be brought back in my shroud !" 

So northward from Drontheim 

Sailed King 01a£ 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 5°7 

XI. 

HOP SIGURD AT SALTER IIOKD. 

Loud the angry wind was wailing 
As King Olaf s ships came sailing 
Northward out of Drontheim hi. 
Tb the mouth bf Salten Fiord. 

h the flying sea-spray drenches, 
I md aft the rowers' benches, 
single bean 

Of the champions there on board, 

All without the Fiord was quiet, 
But within it storm and riot, 
Such as on i. 

Raud the Strong was wont to ride. 

Ami the OH through all its tide-v. 
rtrays, 
As the leavei are swept through sin 
When the flood-gates open 

" "lis the warlock ! 'ti^ the demod 

Raud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen; 
" Bui the Lord if no; aiinghted 

By tne wiuhcraft Of his toe-. ' 

To the -hip's bow he ascended, 
By hi> choristers attended* 

Hound him were the tapers lighted, 
And the sacred incense rose. 

On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, 
In his robes, as one transfigured, 
And the Crucifix, he planted 

High amid the rain and mist. 

Then with holy water sprinkled 
All the ship; the mass-bells tinkled; 
Loud the monks around him chanted, 
Loud he read the Evangelist. 



5o8 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN 

As unto the Fiord they darted, 
On each side the water parted 5 
t Down a path like silver molten 

Steadily rowed King Olaf 's ships 5 

Steadily burned all night 'the tapers, 
And the White Christ through the vapours 
Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten, 
As through John's Apocalypse, — 

, Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling 
On the little isle of Gelling ; 
Not a guard was at the doorway, 

Not a glimmer of light was seen. 

But at anchor, carved and gilded, 
Lay the dragon ship he buildedj 
'Twas the grandest ship in Norway, 
With its crest and scales of green. 

Up the stairway, softly creeping, 
To the loft where Raud was sleeping, 
With their fists they burst asunder 
Bolt and bar that held the door. 

Drunken with sleep and ale they found him, 
Dragged him from his bed and bound him, 
"< While he stared with stupid wonder, 
At the look and garb they wore. 

Then King Olaf said : « O Sea-King \ 
Little time have we for speaking, 
Choose between the good and evil 5 
Be baptized, or thou shalt die ! 

Bat in scorn the heathen scoffer 
Answered : ' ' I disdain thine offer ; 
Neither fear I God nor Devil ; 

Thee and thy Gospel I defy !" 

Then between his jaws distended, 
When his frantic struggles ended, 
Through King Olaf s horn an adder, 

Touched by fire, they forced to glide. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 509 

Sharp his tooth was as an arrow, 
As he gnawed through bone and marrow ; 
But without a groan or shudder, 

Raud the Strong blaspheming died. 

Then baptized they all that v 
Swarthy Lap and lair Norw< 
Far a^ swims the salmon, leaping, 

Up the .streams of Salteii hiord. 

In their temples Thor and Odin 
Lay in dust and ashes trodden, 
As King Olaf, onward sweeping, 

Preached the Gospel with his sword. 

Then he took the carved ■• 

D [on-ship that Raud hail builded, 

And the tiller single-handed, 

Grasping, steered into I main. 

Southward sailed tin- sea-gulls o'er him, 

Southward sailed the ship that bore him, 
Till at Drontheim haven landed 
Olaf and his crew again. 



XII. 

KING 01..M *S CHRI6T1 

At Drontheim, Ol.it" the King 
Heards the bells of Yule-tid< 

As he sat in his banquet-hall, 
Drinking the nut-brown ale, 
With his bearded Berserks hale 

And tall. 

Three days his Yule-tide feasts 
He held with Bishops and Priests, 

And his horn rilled up to the brim, 
But the ale was never too strong, 
Nor the Saga-man's tale too long, 

For him. 

O'er his drinking horn, the sign 

He made of the Cross divine, 

As he drank, and muttered his prayers j 



$io TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 

But the Berserks evermore 
Made the sign of the Hammer of Thor 
Over theirs. 

The gleams of the fire-light dance 
Upon helmet and hauberk and lance, 

And laugh in the eyes of the King ; 
And he cries to Half red the Scald, 
Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald, 

"Sing! 

" Sing me a song divine, 
With a sword in every line, 

And this shall be thy reward." 
And he loosened the belt at his waist, 
And in front of the singer placed 

His sword. 

" Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, 
Wherewith at a stroke he hewed 

The millstone through and through, 
And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong, 
Were neither so broad nor so long, 

Nor so true." 

Then the Scald took his harp and sang, 
And loud through the music rang 

The sound of that shining word ; 
And the harp-strings a clangour made, 
As if they were struck with the blade 

Of a sword. 

And the Berserks round about 
Broke forth into a shout 

That made the rafters ring; 
They smote with their fists on the board, 
And shouted, " Long live the Sword, 

And the King !" 

But the King said, " O my son, 
I miss the bright word in one 

Of thy measures and thy rhymes." 
A.nd Halfred the Scald replied, 
In another 'twas multiplied 
Three times." 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. jjll 

Then King Ola! hilt 

Oi . tiaped and 

And said, " Do : 
Count Well 
Thor's hammer or Ghri 

Cho 

And te Scald Said, ••This 

In the name of the 1 

\\ bd on it . ■ d !" 

And a shout went round the hoard, 
"inn the Lord, 

Who died!" 

'i 
r l . 

Through the driving . ied, 

Like : I 

By 1: . la almost 

aled. 

On the shining wall a . 
And shadow 

. the hilt of the lift! d .sword, 
And in foaming cups of ale 
'Ihe l\ ::k " Was-^ 

To the Lord!" 



XIII. 
Tin: BUILDtftb or Tin: LO&G SERPENT. 



Thorberg Skatting, master-builder, 

In his shipyard by tin 
Whistlea, saying-, u 'Twoula bewilder 
Any man hut Thorberg Skat'ting, 

Any man but me ! 

him lav the Dragon stranded, 
of old by Raud the Strong. 
And King Olaf had commanded 
lie should build another Dragon, 
Twice as large and long. 



TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 
Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting, 

As he sat with half-closed eyes, 
And his head turned sideways, drafting 
That new vessel for King Olaf 

Twice the Dragon's size. 

Round him busily hewed and hammered 

Mallet huge and heavy axe -, 
Workmen laughed and sang and clamoured, 
Whirred the wheels that into rigging- 
Spun the shining flax ! 

All this tumult heard the master, — 

It was music to his ear ; 
Fancy whispered all the faster, 
" Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting 

For a hundred year !" 

Workmen sweating at the forges 

Fashioned iron bolt and bar 
Like a warlock's midnight orgies 
Smoked and bubbled the black cauldron 

With the boiling tar. 

Did the warlocks mingle in it, 

Thorberg Skafting, any curse ? 
Could you not be gone a minute 
But some mischief must be doing, 

Turning bad to worse ? 

Twas an ill wind that came wafting 
From his homestead words of woe j 

To his farm went Thorberg Skafting, 

Oft repeating to his workmen, 
Build ye thus and so. 

After long delays returning 

Came the master back by night ; 

To his shipyard longing, yearning, 

Hurried he, and did not leave it 
Till the morning's light. 

" Come and see my ship, my darling!" 

On the morrow said the King ; 
"Finished now from keel to carlingj 
Never yet was seen in Norway 

Such a wondrous tiling!" 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. .513 

In the shipyard, idly talking, 

At the ship the workmen stared: 
Some one, all their labour balking, 
Down her sides had cut deep gashes, 
■ a plank was spared ! 

'Death be to the evil-doer!" 

With an oath King Olaf spoke j 
"But rewards to his pursu 

And with wrath his face grew redder 

Than his scarlet cloak. 

Straight the master-builder, smiling, 

Answered thus the angry King ; 
" Cease blaspheming and reviling, 
Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting 

Who has done this thing ! " 

Then he chipped and smoothed the planking, 
Till the- King, delighted, m 

With much lauding and much thanking, 
"Handsomer is now my Dragon 
Than she w as before ! " 

Seventy ells and four extended 

( );i the grass the vessel's keel ; 
High above it, gill and splendid, 
Rose the figure-bead ferocious, 

With its crc^t of Btec 1. 

Then they launched her from the tressels, 

In the shipyard by tin 
She was the grandest or all vessels, 
Never ship was built in Norway 

Half so fine as she! 

The Long Serpent was she christened, 

'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer ! 
They who to the Saga listened 
Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting 

For a hundred year ! 



5 14 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

XIV. 

THE CREW OF THE LONG SERPENT. 

Safe at anchor in Drontheim Bay- 
King Olaf's fleet assembled lay, 

And, striped with white and blue, 
Downward fluttered sail and banner, 
As alights the screaming lanner , 
Lustily cheered, in their wild manner, 

The Long Serpent's crew. 

Her forecastle man was Ulf the Red 5 
Like a wolfs was his shaggy head, 

His teeth as large and white -, 
His beard of grey and russet blended, 
Round as a swallow's nest descended 5 
As standard-bearer he defended 

Olaf s flag in the fight. 

Near him Kolbiorn had his place, 
Like the King in garb and face, 

So gallant and so hale 5 
Every cabin-boy and varlet 
Wondered at his cloak of scarlet ; 
Like a river frozen and star-lit, 

Gleamed his coat of mail. 

By the bulkhead, tali and dark, 
Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark, 

A figure gaunt and grand ; 
On his hairy arm imprinted 
Was an anchor, azure-tinted ; 
Like Thor's hammer, huge and dinted 

Was his brawny hand. 

Einar Tamberskelver, bare 
To the winds his golden hair, 

By the mainmast stood ; 
Graceful was his form, and slender 
And his eyes were deep and tender 
As a woman's, in the splendour 

Of her maidenhood. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 513 

In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork 
Watched the sailors at their work: 

Heaven-,! how they swore! 
Thirty men they each comman ! 
[ron-sinewed, horny-handed, 

Shoulders broad and cheats expanded, 
Tugging at the oar. 

These, and many more like 1 1 
With King Olaf sailed tin. « 

Till tin- waters vast 
Filled them with a vague dei 
"With the freedom and the mi 

With the roll and roar 

And the Bounding blast 

When they landed from the I 

How they roared through Drontheim's street, 

Boisterous ..-> the gale ! 
How they laughed and stamped and pounded, 
Till the tavern root' n -ounded, 
And the host loo!. aided 

As they drank the ale ' 

Never saw the wild North B 

Such a gallant company 

Sail its billows blue ! 

Never, whije they cruised and quarrel'. 
Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald, 
Own ! well apparelled, 

i d such a crew ! 

XV. 

A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR. 

A little bird in the air 
1- 3 aging of Thyri the fair, 

The sister pf Svend the Dane; 
And the s< garrulous bird 

be town is heard, 
And jain and again. 

I [oist up your sails of silk, 
And ,. om each other. 



516 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

To King Burislaf, it is said, 
Was the beautiful Thyri wed, 

And a sorrowful bride went she 5 
And after a week and a day, 
She has fled away and away, 

From his town by the stormy sea. 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

They say that through heat and through cold, 
Through weald, they say, and through wold, 

By day and by night, they say, 

She has fled ; and the gossips report 

She has come to King Olaf s court, 

And the town is all in dismay. 

Hoist up your sails of silk, 

And flee away from each other. 

It 5s whispered King Olaf has seen, 
Has talked with the beautiful Queen ; 
And they wonder how it will end ; 
For surely, if here she remain, 
It is war with King Svend the Dane, 
And King Burislaf the Vend ! 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

O, greatest wonder of all ! 

It is published in hamlet and hall, 

It roars like a flame that is fanned i 
The King — yes, Olaf the king — 
Has wedded her with his ring, 
And Thyri is Queen in the land ! 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

XVI. 

GUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA-STALKS. 



Northward over Drontheim 
Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, 
Sang the lark and linnet 
From the meadows green j 



Weeping in her chamber, 
Lonely and unhappy, 
Sat the Drottning Thyri, 
Sat Kins: Olaf s Queen. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 

Cn at all the windows 
■reamed the pleasant sunshine, 
jn the root aboi e her 
Sol i\y cooed the . 



3ut the sound she heard not, 
lor the sunshine heeded, 
•W the thoughts <>t Thyri 
Were not thoughts i t love. 

Then King Olaf entered, 
leautiful as morning, 

Shone his h 

n his hand he < arried 
kgelicas uprooted, 
Vith delicious fragrance 

Filling all the place. 

tiike a rainy midnight 
at the Drottning Thyri, 
Iven the Minle of Olaf 
Could not cheer her gloom ; 

lor the stalk> lie gave her 
lith a gracious gesture, 
Lnd with words as pleasant 
As their own perfume. 

a her hands he placed them, 
^nd her jewelled lingers 
'hrough the green leaves glistened 
Like the dews or" morn ; 

ut she cast them from her, 
[aughty and indignant, 
>n the floor she threw them 
With a look of scorn. 



Richer presents," said she, 
| Gave King Harald Gormson 
o the Queen, my mother, 
Than such worthless weeds ; 



N rway 
. waste the kingdom, 
.re 
1 : her royal n. 



:<; 



But i 
Throu 

•!ier, 

: all thy \< s 

A> the wind the 
Then ; 

. n indeer boun 
With an oath be 

Thus the luckless Queen : 

* >!.'.f 

Sv< nd it Denmark ; 
hi hand shall hale him 
Bj his forked chin !" 

Then he Kft the chamber, 

Thundering through the doorway, 
led 
Dowd the outer stair. 

Smarting with the insult, 
Through the streets of Drontheun 

Strode he red and wrathful, 
With his stately air. 

All his ships he gathered, 
Summoned all his fon 

.Making his war levy 
In the region round j 

Down the coast of Norway, 
Like a flock of sea-gulls, 
Sailed the fleet of Olaf 

Through the Danish Sound. 



518 TALES OF A 

With his own hand fearless, 
Steered he the Long Serpent, 
Strained the creaking cordage, 
Bent each boom and gatfj 

Till in Vendland landing, 
The domains of Thyri 
He redeemed and rescued 
From King Burislaf. 



WA YSIDE INN 
Then said Olaf, laughing, 
" Not ten yoke of oxen 
Have the power to draw us 
Like a woman's hair ! 

" Now will I confess it, 
Better things are jewels 
Than angelica-stalks are 
For a Queen to wear." 



XVII. 



KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEARD. 



Loudly the sailors cheered 
Svend of the Forked Beard, 
As with his fleet he steered 

Southward to Vendland ; 
Where with their courses hauled 
All were together called, 
Under the Isle of Svald 

Near to the mainland. 

After Queen Gunhild's death, 
So the old Saga saith, 
Plighted King Svend his faith 

To Sigrid the Haughty 3 
And to avenge his bride, 
Soothing her wounded pride^ 
Over the waters wide 

King Olaf sought he. 

Still on her scornful face, 
Blushing with deep disgrace, 
Bore she the crimson trace 

Of Olaf s gauntlet ; 
Like a malignant star, 
Blazing in heaven afar, 
Red shone the angry scar 

Under her frontlet. 

Oft to King Svend she spake, 
" For thine own honour's sake 
Shalt thou swift vengeance take 
On the vile coward!" 



Until the King at last, 
Gusty and overcast, 
Like a tempestuous blast 
Threatened and lowered. 

Soon as the Spring appeared, 
Svend of the Forked Beard 
High his red standard reared, 

Eager for battle ; 
While every warlike Dane. 
Seizing his arms again, 
Left all unsown the grain, 

Unhoused the cattle. 

Likewise the Swedish King 
Summoned in haste a Thing, 
Weapons and men to bring 

In aid of Denmark -, 
Eric the Norseman, too, 
As the war-tidings flew, 
Sailed with a chosen crew 

From Lapland and Finmark. } 

So upon Easter day 

Sailed the three kings away, 

Out of the sheltered bay, 

In the bright season ; 
With them Earl Sigvald came, 
Eager for spoil and fame ; 
Pity that such a name 

Stooped to such treason ! 



pfc under Svald at last, 
tow were their anchors cast, 

pfe from the sea and hi 
' Plotted the three i. 

/h;b, with a base intent, 
out h ward Earl Sigvald \ 
|n a foul errand bent, 
Unto the Sea-kings, 



' F. 

Tl: I I on his cou 

1 . .thin the 1 

t-hav< n ; 
Him I and bring 

h to the r... 



U J 



XVIII. 



KINO . ALD. 



>n the grey sea-sands 
pg Olai stands, 
Brthward and seaward 
le points with his hands. 

¥ith eddy and whirl 
Be sea-tide-, curl, 
Bshing the sandals 
■ Sigvald the Earl. 

fhe mariner.-, shout, 
.he ship-, su ing about, 
me yards are all hoisted, 
The sails flutter out. 

lie war-horns are played, 
the anchors are weighed, 
>ike moths in the distance 
Pbe sails flit and fade. 

The sea is like lead, 
The harbour lies dead, 
\s a corse on the sea-shore, 
Whose spirit has fled ! 



On thai 

The hi 

Sailed out ot the 

.'. 

: ile, 

3 raid and Olaf 

Sail side by side. 

Cried tin- Earl : n Follow 

I your pilot will be, 

For I know all the channels 

Where floWS the deep sea 1" 

So into the strait 

e in wait, 
Gallant King Olaf 
Sails to his fate ! 

Then the «ea-fog veils 
The ships and their sails ; 
Queen Sigrid the Haughty, 

Thy vengeance prevails ! 



XIX. 

KING OLAF*S WAR-HORNS. 

"Strike the sails '." King Olaf said; 
Never shall men of mine take flight : 
Never away from battle I fled, 



520 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN 

Never away from my foes ! 

Let God dispose 
Of my life in the tight ! " 

(< Sound the horns ! " said Olaf the King ; 
And suddenly through the drifting brume 
The blare of the horns began to ring, 
Like the terrible trumpet shock 

Of Regnarock, 
On the Day of Doom ! 

Louder and louder the war-horns sang 
Over the level floor of the flood ; 
All the sails came down with a clang, 
And there in the mist overhead 

The sun hung red 
As a drop of blood. 

Drifting down on the Danish fleet 
Three together the ships were lashed, 
So that neither should turn and retreat 5 
In the midst, but in front of the rest, 

The burnished crest 
Of the Serpent flashed. 

King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck, 
"With bow of ash and arrows of oak, 
His gilded shield was without a fleck, 
His helmet inlaid with gold, 

And in many a fold 
Hung his crimson cloak. 

On the forecastle Ulf the Red 
Watched the lashing of the ships : 
"If the Serpent lie so far ahead, 
We shall have hard work of it here," 

Said he with a sneer 
On his bearded lips. 

King Olaf laid an arrow on string, 
" Have I a coward on board V said he 3 
" Shoot it another way, O King ! " 
Sullenly answered Ulf, 
The old sea-wolf; 
u You have need of me!" 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 521 

In front came Svend, the King of the Danes, 
Sweeping down with his fifty rowers j 
To the right, the Swedish king with his thanes ; 
And on board ot' the Iron-Beard 

Earl Eric steered 
On the left with his oars. 

"These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King, 

"At home with their wives had better Stay, 

Than come within reach of my Serpent's sting 

But where Eric the Norseman leads 

Heroic deeds 
Will be done to-day ! " 

Then as together the vessels crashed, 
Eric severed the Cables ol hide 
With which King Olaf s ships were lashed, 
And left them to drive and drift 

With the currents swift 
Ol" the outward tide. 

Louder the Aar-honis growl and snarl, 
Sharper the dragons bite and sting ! 
Eric- the -"ii <<t liakon Jarl 

A death-drink salt as the sea 

Pledges to thee, 
Ol at' the King ! 

XX. 

BINAB TAMBERSKELVER. 

It was Einar TamberskeK^i 

Stood beside the mast ; 
From his yew-bow, tipped with silver, 

Elew the arrows fist ■ 
Aimed at Eric unavailing, 

As he -at concealed, 
Half behind the quarter-railing, 

Half behind his shield. 

First an arrow struck the tiller, 

Just above his head; 
" Sing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller," 

Then Earl Eric said, 



522 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 

cs Sing the song of Hakon dying, 

Sing his funeral wail ! " 

And another arrow flying 

Grazed his coat of mail. 

Turning to a Lapland yeoman, 

As the arrow passed, 
Said Earl Eric, " Shoot that bowman 

Standing by the mast." 
Sooner than the word was spoken 

Flew the yeoman's shaft ; 
Einar' s bow in twain was broken, 

Einar only laughed. 

"What was that?" said Olaf, standing 

On the quarter-deck. 
" Something heard I like the stranding 

Of a shattered wreck." 
Einar then, the arrow taking 

From the loosened string, 
Answered, " That was Norway breaking 

From thy hand, O king ! " 

"Thou art but a poor diviner," 

Straightway Olaf said ; 
■* Take my bow, and swifter, Einar, 

Let thy shafts be sped." 
Of his bows the fairest choosing, 

Reached he from above ; 
Einar saw the blood-drops oozing 

Through his iron glove. 

But the bow was thin and narfow; 

At the first assay, 
O'er its head he drew the arrow, 

Flung the bow away \ 
Said, with hot and angry temper 

Flushing in his cheek. 
" Olaf ! for so great a Kamper 

Are thy bows too weak !" 

Then, with smile of joy defiant 

On his beardless lip, 
Scaled he, light and self-reliant, 

Eric's dragon-ship. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF 
Loose his golden locks were flowing, 

Bright bis armour gleamed • 
Like Saint Michael overthrowing 

Luciier he seemed. 



XXI. 

KING OLAl's DEATH-DRINK. 

All day has the battle raged. 
All day have the ships engaged, 
But aot yet is assu 
The vengeance 01 Ifcric the Earl. 

The decks with blood are rid, 

The arrows ol death are 51 

The ships are filled with tlu 

And the spears the champi 

Tin v drift as wrecks on the tide. 
The grappling-irons are pi 
The boarders 1 limb up the • 
Tie Bhouts are feeble and tew. 

Ah ! never -dial! x > 

ber sailors come back o'er the main; 
They all lie wounded or -lain, 

Or asleep in the billow > blue! 

On the deck si incls Olai'thc King, 
Around him whistle and sing 

The spears that tiie ioemen fling, 

And the stones they hurl with their hands 

In the midst of the stones and the spc. 
Kolbiorn, the marshal, appears, 
I lis shield in the air he upr. 

By the side of Kin:;- ( Hat' he stands. , 

Over the .slippery v 

Of the Long deck 

Sweeps Eric v. jtri h 11 "• a 1 I 

His lips with aic". r are pale; 



524 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 

He hews with his axe at the mast, 
Till it falls, with the sails overcast, 
Like a snow-covered pine in the vast 
Dim forests of Orkadale. 

Seeking King Olaf then, 
He rushes aft with his men, 
As a hunter into the den 

Of the bear, when he stands at bay. 

"Remember Jarl Hakon!" he cries j 
When lo ! on his wondering eyes, 
Two kingly figures arise, 
Two Olafs in warlike array ! 

Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear 
Of King Olaf a word of cheer, 
In a whisper that none may hear, 
With a smile on his tremulous lip 5 

Two shields raised high in the air, 
Two flashes of golden hair, 
Two scarlet meteors' glare, 

And both have leaped from the ship. 

Earl Eric's men in the boats 
Seize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats, 
And cry, from their hairy throats, 
" See ! it is Olaf the King !" 

While far on the opposite side 
Floats another shield on the tide, 
Like a jewel set in the wide 
Sea-current's eddying ring. 

There is told a wonderful tale, 
How the King stripped off his mail, 
Like leaves of the brown sea-kale, 
As he swam beneath the main ; 

But the young grew old and grey, 
And never, by night or by day, 
In his kingdom of Norraway 
Was Kin^ Olaf seen a°:ain ! 



THE F KLXG OLAF. 



5 2 5 



XXII. 



THE NUN or N1DAROS. 



; the convent of Drontheim, 
lone in her chamber 
nelt Astrid the Abbess, 
t midnight, adoring, 
eseeching, entreating 
he Virgin and Mother. 

le heard in the silence 
he voice of one speaking, 
Without in the darkn< ss, 
i gusts of the night-wind, 
ow louder, now nearer, 
ow lost in the distance. 

he voice of a stranger 
;. seemed as she listened, 
fsome one who answered, 

(eseeching, imploring, 

cry from afar off 
he could not distinguish. 

fhe voice of Saint John, 
he beloved disciple, 
/ho wandered and waited 
'he Master's appearance, 
done in the darkness, 
Unsheltered and friendless. 

It is accepted, 
; he angry defiance, 
'he challenge of battle ! 
t is accepted, 
Jut not with the weapons 
)f war that thou wieldest ! 

I Cross against corslet, 
uove against hatred, 
'eace-cry for war-cry ! 



Patience is powerful ; 

He that o'ercometh 

Hath power o'er the nations ! 

" A> torrents in summer, 
Half dried in their channels, 
Suddenly rise, though the 
Sky is —till clouill 

For rain has been tailing 
Far oti'at their fountains \ 

'* So heart, that are tainting 
Grow full to o'ertlowing, 
And they that behold it 
Marvel, and know not 
That God at their fountains 
Far oil' has been raining ! 

" Stronger than steel 
Is the sword of the Spirit; 
Swifter than arrows 
The light of the truth is ; 
Greater than anger 
Is love, and subdueth ! 

"Thou art a phantom, 
A shape of the sea-mist, 
A shape of the brumal 
Rain, and the darkness 
j Fearful and formless; 
Day dawns and thou art not ! 

"The dawn is not distant, 
Nor is the night starless ; 
Love is eternal ! 
God is still God, and 
His faith shall not fail us ; 
Christ is eternal !" 



526 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

INTERLUDE. 

A strain of music closed the tale, 
A low, monotonous, funeral wail, 
That with its cadence, wild and sweet. 
Made the long Saga more complete. 

"Thank God !" the Theologian said, 
*' The reign of violence is dead, 
Or dying surely from the world | 
While Love triumphant reigns instead, 
And in a brighter sky o'erhead 
His blessed banners are unfurled, 
And most of all thank God for this • 
The war and waste of clashing creeds 
Now end in words, and not in deeds, 
And no one suffers loss or bleeds 
For thoughts that men call heresies. 

" I stand without here in the porch, 

I hear the bell's melodious din, 

I hear the organ peal within, 

I hear the prayer, with words that scorch 

Like sparks from an inverted torch, 

I hear the sermon upon sin, 

With threatenings of the last account, 

And all, translated in the air, 

Reach me but as our dear Lord's Prayer, 

And as the Sermon on the Mount. 

"Must it be Calvin, and not Christ ? 
Must it be Athanasian creeds, 
Or holy water, books, and beads ? 
Must struggling souls remain content 
With councils and decrees of Trent ? 
And can it be enough for these 
The Christian Church the year embalms 
With evergreens and boughs of palms, 
And fills the air with litanies ? 

" I know that yonder Pharisee 
Thanks God that he is not like me; 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF, 52? 

In my humiliation dressed, 
I only stand and beat my be 
And pray lor human charity. 

"Not to one church alone. 

The- voice prophetic spake from he 

And unto each the promise came, 

Diversified, bul still the Bamej 

For him that overcometh are 

The new name written on the stone, 

The raiment white, tin* crown, the throne, 

And 1 will give him the Morning 

" Ah ! to how many Faith has 1. 
No evidence pf thin] 

Inn i din shadow, that re* 

The i re< d ot the Phantasi i 
For whom no Man of Sorrows > ! 
For whom the Tragt i. I Ml ine 
Was l)nt a gyml n » 

Ami Christ a phantom 

M For Oth< II a dh mir « 

Is living in the lite they lead. 

The passing of their beautiful feel 
Blesses tin- pavement oi the street, 

And all their looks and words re] 
Old Fuller'^ saying, wise and su 

Not as a vulture, but a 

The Holy Ghost came from above. 

'• And this brings back to me a tale 
So sad the hearer well may quail. 
And question if such things can be; 
Yet in the chronicles of Spain 
Down the dark pages runs this stain, 
And nought can wash them white again, 
So fearful is the tragedy/' 



52 8 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN 

THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. 

TORGUEMADA. 

In the heroic days when Ferdinand 

And Isabella ruled the Spanish land, 

And Torquemada, with his subtle brain, 

Ruled them, as Grand Inquisitor of Spain, 

In a great castle near Valladolid, 

Moated and high and by fair woodlands hid, 

There dwelt, as from the chronicles we learn, 

An old Hidalgo, proud and taciturn, 

Whose name has perished with his towers of stone, 

And all his actions, save this one alone ; 

This one so terrible, perhaps 'twere best 

If it, too, were forgotten with the rest ; 

Unless, perchance, our eyes can see therein 

The martyrdom triumphant o'er the sin ; 

A double picture, with its gloom and glow, 

The splendour overhead, the death below. 

This sombre man counted each day as lost 

On which his feet no sacred threshold crossed ; 

And when he chanced the passing Host to meet, 

He knelt and prayed devoutly in the street ; 

Oft he confessed 5 and with each mutinous thought, 

As with wild beasts at Ephesus, he fought. 

In deep contrition scourged himself in Lent, 

Walked in processions with his head down bent ; 

At plays of Corpus Christi oft was seen, 

And on Palm Sunday bore his bough of green. 

PI is only pastime was to hunt the boar, 

Through tangled thickets of the forest hoar, 

Or with his jingling mules to hurry down 

To some grand bull-fight in the neighbouring town, 

Or in the crowd with lighted taper stand, 

When Jews were burned, or banished from the land. 

Then stirred within him a tumultuous joy ; 

The demon whose delight is to destroy 

Shook him, and shouted with a trumpet tone, 

" Kill ! kill ! and let the Lord find out his own ! 

And now, in that old castle in the wood, 
His daughters in the dawn of womanhood, 






TORQUEMADA. 529 

Returning from their convent school, had made 
Resplendent with their bloom the forest shade. 
Reminding him of their dead mother's face, 
When first she came into that gloomy place, — 
A memory in his heart as dim and sweet 
As moonlight in a solitary street, 
Where the same rays, that hit the sea, are thl P 
Lovely but powerless upon walls of stone. 
These two fair daughters of a m< ther 

Were all the dream had left him as it lied. 
A joy at first, and then a groi 
As if a voice within him cried, '■ Beware!" 
A rague presentiment of impending doom, 
Like ghostly footsteps m a vacant room, 
Haunted him day and night \ tear 

That death to BOme one ol .. \ir, 

With dark surmise-, of a bidden crime, 
Made lite itself a death before it-> time. 

Jealous, suspicious, with DO .me, 

A spy upon his daughters he I ame; 
With velvet slippers, noiseless on the \. 

He glided softly through halt'-o; 

Now in the room, ami now upon the stair, 

IK- Stood beside them ere they were av 

He listened in the passage when they talked, 

He watched them from the casement when they walked, 

He saw the gipsy haunt the river's 

He saw the monk among the cork-trees glide; 

And tortured by the mystery and the doubt 

Of some dark secret, past his finding out, 

Baffled he paused ; then reassured a 

Pursued the living phantom of his brain. 

He watched them even when they knelt in church j 

And then, descending lower in his search, 

Questioned the servants, and with eager eyes 

Listened incredulous to their replies; 

The gipsy? none had seen her m the wood! 

The monk ; a mendicant in search of food ! 

At length the awful revelation came, 
Crushing at once his pride of birth and name, 
The hopes his yearning bosom forward cast, 
And the ancestral glories of the past ; 
All tell together crumbling in disgrace, 



530 TALES OF A V/A YSIDE INN. 

A turret rent from battlement to base. 
His daughters talking in the dead of night 
In their own chamber, and without a light, 
Listening, as he was wont, he overheard, 
And learned the dreadful secret, word by word ; 
And hurrying from his castle, with a cry 
He raised his hands to the unpitying sky, 
Repeating one dread word, till bush and tree 
Caught it, and shuddering answered, " Heresy !" 
Wrapped in his cloak, his hat drawn o'er his face, 
'Now hurrying forward, now with lingering pace. 
He walked all night the alleys of his park, 
"With one unseen companion in the dark. 
The demon who within him lay in wait, 
And by his presence turned his love to hate, 
For ever muttering in an undertone, 
<e Kill ! kill ! and let the Lord find out his own !" 

Upon the morrow, after early Mass, 

While yet the dew was glistening on the grass, 

And all the woods were musical with birds, 

The old Hidalgo, uttering fearful words, 

Walked homeward with the priest, and in his room 

Summoned his trembling daughters to their doom. 

When questioned, with brief answers they replied, 

Nor when accused evaded or denied 5 

Expostulations, passionate appeals, 

All that the human heart most fears or feels, 

In vain the Priest with earnest voice essayed, 

In vain the father threatened, wept, and prayed ; 

Until at last he said, with haughty mien, 

"The Holy Office, then, must intervene!" 

And now the Grand Inquisitor of Spain, 
With all the fifty horsemen of his tram, 
His awful name resounding, like the blast 
Of funeral trumpets, as he onward passed, 
Came to Valladolid, and there began 
To harry the rich Jews with fire and ban. 
To him the Hidalgo went, and at the gate 
Demanded audience on affairs of state, 
And in a secret chamber stood before 
A venerable greybeard of fourscore, 
Dressed in the hood and habit of a friar; 
Out of his eyes flashed a consuming fire, 







The Wayside Inn 



TORQUEMADA. 

And in his hand the mystic horn he held, 
Which poison and all noxious charms dispelled. 
He heard in silence the Hidalgo's I 
Then answered in a voice that made him qua 

of the Church! when fold 

pfil e his only son was told, 
He did not pause to parley nor pr 

But hastened to obey the Lord's behest. 

In him it was account* 

The Holy Church expects oi thee no I 

I fi ther's brain, 

And Mercy from that hour implored in \ 

Ah ! who will e'er believe th 

His daughters he accused, and the sain 

They both were cast into the dtlO Otttj 

That dismal ante-chamber of the tomb, 
Arraigned, condemned, and sentenced to the ilamc, 
The secret torture and the public shame. 

Then to the Grand tnquisil >r once more 

The Hidalgo went, more eager than lu I 

And said: " Wln-ii Abraham offered up 
He clave the wood wherewith it might be done. 
By his example taught, let me too bring 
Wood from the forest for my offering!" 

Ami the dee}) \oice, without a pause, replied: 

*' Son of the Church ! by faith now justified, 

plete thy sacrifice, even as thou will ; 

The Church absolves thy conscience from all guilt!" 

Then this most wretched father went his way 

Into the woods, that round his castle lay, 

Where once his daughters in their childhood played 

With their young mother in the sun and shade. 

Xow all the leaves had fallen ; the branches bare 

Made a perpetual moaning in the air, 

And screaming from their eyries overhead 

The ravens sailed athwart the skv of lead. 

With his own hands he lopped the boughs and bound 

Fagots, that crackled with foreboding sound, 

And on his mules, caparisoned and gay 

With bells and tassels, sent them on their wav. 



$$i TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN. 

Then with his mind on one dark purpose bent, 

Again to the Inquisitor he went, 

And said : " Behold, the fagots I have brought, 

And now, lest my atonement be as nought, 

Grant me one more request, one last desire, — 

With my own hand to light the funeral fire i" 

And Torquemada answered from his seat, 

" Son of the Church ! thine offering is complete ; 

Her servants through all ages shall not cease 

To magnify thy deed. Depart in peace !" 

Upon the market-place, builded of stone 

The scaffold rose, whereon Death claimed his own. 

At the four corners, in stern attitude, 

Four statues of the Hebrew Prophets stood, 

Gazing with calm indifference in their eyes 

Upon this place of human sacrifice, 

Round which was gathering fast the eager crowd, 

With clamour of voices dissonant and loud, 

And every roof and window was alive 

With restless gazers, swarming like a hive. 

The church-bells tolled, the chant of monks drew near, 

Loud trumpets stammered forth their notes of fear, 

A line of torches smoked along the street, 

There was a stir, a rush, a tramp of feet, 

And, with its banners floating in the air, 

Slowly the long procession crossed the square, 

And, to the statues of the Prophets bound, 

The victims stood, with fagots piled around. 

Then all the air a blast of trumpets shook, 

And louder sang the monks with bell and book, 

And the Hidalgo, lofty, stern, and proud, 

Lifted his torch, and, bursting through the crowd, 

Lighted in haste the fagots, and then fled, 

Lest those imploring eyes should strike him dead ! 

O pitiless skies ! why did your clouds retain 

For peasants' fields their floods of hoarded rain ? 

O pitiless earth ! why opened no abyss 

To bury in its chasm a crime like this? 

That night, a mingled column of fire and smoke 

From the dark thickets of the forest broke, 

And, glaring o'er the landscape leagues away, 

Made all the fields and hamlets bright as day. 



! 



TORQUEMADA. 533 

Wrapped in a sheet of flame the castle blazed, 
And as the villagers in terror gazed, 
They saw the figure of that cruel knight 
Lean from a window m the turret s height, 
His ghastly face ilium the glare, 

His hands upraised above his head id pn 
Till the floor sank beneath him, and h 
Down the black hollow of that burning well. 

Three centuries and more above his bones 

Have piled the oblivious yean like funeral stones-, 

His Dame has perished with him, and DO trace 

Remains on earth of his afflicted r 

Bui Torquemada's name, w ith clou 

Looms in the distant landscape of the I 

Like a burnt tower upon a blackened 1 

Lit by the fin i of burning woods beneath ! 



RJLUDE. 

Thus closed the ; 

That casl upon e.:. h i it 

Its sludov, . pace 

Unbroken silence filled the i 
The Jew was thoughtful and 
Upon his memory throng< d and \ 
The persecution * : his rsu e, 
Their wrongs and sufferings and d 

I [is head was Mink upon his br< 

And from his eves alternate came 
Flashes of wrath and tears of shame. 

The Student first the silence broke, 

As one who long has lain in wait, 

With purpose to retaliate. 

And thus he dealt the avenging stroke. 

u In such a company as this, 

A tale so tragic seems amiss, 

That by its terrible control 

O'ermasters and drags down the soul 

Into a fathomless abyss. 

The Italian Tales that you disdain, 

Some merry Night of Straparole, 



534 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN 

Or Machiavelli's Belphagor, 
Would cheer us and delight us more, 
Give greater pleasure and less pain 
Than your grim tragedies of Spain !" 

And here the Poet raised his hand, 
With such entreaty and command, 
It stopped discussion at its birth, 
And said : " The story I shall tell 
Has meaning in it, if not mirth ; 
Listen, and hear what once befell 
The merry birds of Killingworth ! " 



THE POETS TALE. 

THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. 

It was the season, when through all the land 
The merle and mavis build, and building sing 

Those lovely lyrics, written by His hand, 

W T hom Saxon Caedmon calls the Blithe-heart King 

When on the boughs the purple buds expand, 
The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, 

And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, 

And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. 

The robin and the blue-bird, piping loud, 

Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee 

The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud 
Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be ; 

And hungry crows assembled in a crowd, 
Clamoured their piteous prayer incessantly, 

Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said : 

"Give us, O Lord, this day our daily bread !" 

Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed, 

Speaking some unknown language strange and sweet 

Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed 

The village with the cheers of all their fleet; 

Or quarrelling together, laughed and railed 
Like foreign sailors, landed in the street 

Of seaport town, and with outlandish noise 






THE BIRDS OF KILLIXGWORTII. 535 

Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, 

And thrifty farm tilled the t 

Heard with alarm the 1 
That mingled wi 

andra-like, prognosticating 
They shook their heads, and doumed with dreadful v. 
To swift destruction the whole KM 

And a town-meeting was convened straightway 

Tq - i .; pr ■■ up '.' the 1. I ■ . I 
these marauders, who, in lieu of] 
1.' vied black-mail upon the u r :irdeii is. 

And cornfields, and beheld without dismay 

The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering sin 
The skeleton that waited at their I 

Whereby their sinful pi 

Then from bis mpie painted wl 

With ; 
The Squire < ame forth, august and splendid sight! 

slowly descending, w ith 1 
Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right, 

tree! he wall 
"A town that boasts inhafa me 

Can have no lack of g< 1 

The I . appeared, a m .:, 

The instinct of who is to kill ; 

The wrath of God he preached from \ 

And read, with fervour, Edwards on the Will 3 
Mis favourite pastime was to slay the deer 

In Summer on some Adirondac hill ; 
E'en now, while walking down the rural lane 
He lopped the wayside lilies with his cane. 

From the Academy, whose belfry crowned 

The hill of Science with its vane of brass, 
Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, 

Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, 
And all absorbed in reveries profound 

Of fair Almira in the upper class, 
Who was, as in a sonnet he had Laid, 
As pure as water, and as good as bread. 



5 3 <5 TALES OF A IVA YSIDE INN 

And next the Deacon issued from his door, 

In his voluminous neck-cloth, white as snow $ 
A suit of sable bombazine he wore j 

His form was ponderous, and his step was slow ; 
There never was so wise a man before ; 

He seemed the incarnate " Well, I told you so !" 
And to perpetuate his great renown 
There was a street named after him in town. 

These came together in the new town-hall, 
With sundry farmers from the region round. 

The Squire presided, dignified and tall, 

His air impressive and his reasoning sound. 

Ill fared it with the birds, both great and small ; 
Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found, 

But enemies enough, who every one 

Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. 

When they had ended, from his place apart, 
Rose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong, 

And, trembling like a steed before the start, 

Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng 

Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart 

To speak out what was in him, clear and strong, 

Alike regardless of their smile or frown, 

And quite determined not to be laughed down. 

" Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, 

From his Republic banished without pity 

The Poets ; in this little town of yours, 

You put to death, by means of a Committee., 

The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, 
The street-musicians of the heavenly city, 

The birds, who make sweet music for us all 

In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. 

" The thrush that carols at the dawn of day 

From the green steeples of the piny wood/ 
The oriole in the elm ; the noisy jay, 

Jargoning like a foreigner at his food ; 
The blue-bird balanced on some topmost spray,. 

Flooding with melody the neighbourhood ; 
Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng- 
That dwell in nests and have the gift of song. 



I 



THE BIRDS OF KILLING WORTH. 

" You slay them all ! and wherefore - for the gain 
Of a scant handful more or less of wheat, 

Or rye, or bailey, 

Scratched up at random by industrious I 

Searching lor worm or weevil after ram ! 
Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet 

As are the songs these unhn I 

Sing at their feast with comforta: 

wondrous beings ::. 
1).' bem, and who taught 

The dialect they speak, where mel 
Alone are the interpreters of thou 

:. 

ight! 

Who .. in the tlW 

Arc half-way houses on the . iven ! 

" Think, every morning \\i. 

1 1. w jubilant tfa 

Their I 
Ami when you think of this, r too 

morning bomev . ibove 

The awakening continents, from 
Somewhere the birds are singing i 

" Think of your '■ 
Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams 

A- in an idiot s brain remembered words 

Hang empty 'mid the col is dreams! 

Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds 

Make tip for the lost music, when your teams 
Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more 
The feathered gleaners follow to your door ? 

" What ! would you rather see the incessant stir 

Of insects in the winrows of the hay, 
And hear the locust and the grasshopper 

Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play ? 
Is this more pleasant to you than the whirr 

Of meadow-lark, and its sweet roumi 
Or twitter of little field-fa r< 
Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake : 



tdfl TALES OF A WA YSIDE INN 

b « You call them thieves and pillagers ; but know 

They are the winged wardens of your farms, 
Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe 

And from your harvests keep a hundred harms 5 
Even the blackest of them all, the crow, 

Renders good service as your man-at-arms, 
Crashing the beetle in his coat of mail, 
And crying havoc on the slug and snail. 

« How can I teach your children gentleness, 
And mercy to the weak, and reverence 

For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, 
Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, 

Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less 
The selfsame light, although averted hence, 

When by your laws, your actions, and your speecn, 

You contradict the very things I teach r 

With this he closed ; and through the audience went 

A murmur, like the rustle of dead leaves ; 
The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent 
Their yellow heads together like their sheave, ; 
Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment 
" Who put their trust m bullocks and in beeves. 
The birds were doomed; and, as the record shows, 
A bounty offered for the heads of crows. 

There was another audience out of reach, 

Who had no voice nor vote in making laws, 
But in the papers read his little speech, 

And crowned his modest temples with applauses 
Thev made him conscious, each one more than eaen, 

He still was victor, vanquished in their cause. 
Sweetest of all the applause he won from thee, 
O fair Almira at the Academy . 

A nd so the dreadful massacre began i 

O'er fields and orchards, and o'er woodland crest,, 

The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran, 

Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains on tneir bieasts, 

Or wounded crept away from sight ol man, 
While the young died of famine m their nests ; 

A slaughter to be told in groans, not words, 

The verv St. Bartholomew of Birds ! 



THE BIRDS OF KILL 7 Til. 539 

The Summer came, and all the birds were dead j 
The days were like hut coal-, j the very ground 

buttled to ashes ; in the orchards led 
Myriads of cat 'around 

The cultivated fields and garden I 

its "t devouring insects crawled, and 1 
No foe to check their march, till they had 1.. 
The land a desert without leaf or shade. 

Devoured by worms 1 was the town, 

t had ruthl 
btered the Innocents. From the trees spun d 
The canker-worms upon the passers-by, 

man's bonnet, sha\* I, and gown. 
Who shook them off with just a little 
They were the terror oi 

endless theme of all the village talk. 

. impatient, but 1 

Confessed their error, Arid -.. 

fter all, the best thing one can do 

When it is raining. Is to let N rain. 
Then they repeal 

Jt would not call the dead to i . 
As school-boys, finding their mistal 
Draw a wet spon 

That year in Rillingworth the Autumn 1 
Without the light of Bis ma; 

The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, 
The illumined pa 

x lost leaves blus n with their shame, 

And drowned themselves despairing in the I 

While the wild wind went moaning everywhere, 

Lamenting the dead children of thi 

But the next Spring a stranger sight was 

A sight that never yet bj bard was sung, 
reat a wonder as it would have b 

If some dumb animal had found a tongue! 
A wagon, overarched with evergr 

Upon whose boughs were wick< ::g, 

All full of singing bird-, came down the street, 
Filling the air with music wild and sweet. 



540 TALES OF A WA YSIDE INK 

From all the country round these birds were brought, 

By order of the town, with anxious quest, 
And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought 

In woods and fields the places they loved best, 
Singing loud canticles, which many thought 

Were satires to the authorities addressed, 
While others, listening in green lanes, averred 
Such lovely music never had been heard! 

But blither still and louder carolled they 

Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know 

It was the fair Almira's wedding-day, 
And everywhere, around, above, below, 

When the Preceptor bore his bride away, 
Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow, 

And a new heaven bent over a new earth 

Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. 



FINALE. 

The hour was late ; the fire burned low, 
The landlord's eyes were closed in sleep, 
And near the story's end a deep 
Sonorous sound at times was heard, 
As when the distant bagpipes blow. 
At this all laughed ; the Landlord stirred, 
As one awakening from a swound, 
And, gazing anxiously around, 
Protested that he had not slept, 
But only shut his eyes, and kept 
His ears attentive to each word. 

Then all arose, and said " Good Night." 
Alone remained the drowsy Squire 
To rake the embers of the fire, 
And quench the waning parlour light : 
While from the windows, here and there, 
The scattered lamps a moment gleamed, 
And the illumined hostel seemed 
The constellation of the Bear, 
Downward, athwart the misty air, 
Sinking and setting toward the sun. 
Far off' the village clock struck one. 



TRAN )NS. 



COPLA.i DE MANRK 



raoM 



let the soul her slum 

ckened, and .. 
Awake l 
How 

And death comes . ■ 
I 

Swiftly r 

Our hearts recall th - 
With many sighs j 
The moment 

Weheednot.but the past, — th • 
More highly prize* 

Onward its course the present keeps, 
Onward the constant current I ■ 
Till life is done ; 

And, did we judge of time aright, 
The past and future in their !'. 
Would be as one. 

Let no one fondly dream a 

That Hope and all her shadowy train 

Will : 

Fleeting as were the dreams of old, 

Remembered like i bold, 

They pass away. 

Our lives are rivers, glidin] 
To that unfathomed, bou 
The silent grave ! 



Roll. I 

Thith 

And tinkling rill, 
r man and 

the throng 
»-ig, 

: . es, 

I 

To One alone my thoughts arise, 

ternal Truth,— the Good and 
Wise,— 
To Him I cry. 

th our common lot, 
' But the world COI 

world is but the ru 
Which 
( M peace al 

row way. 
Which leads no traveller's lout 
I From realms of love. 



542 TEA NSLA TIONS. 

Our cradle is the starting-place, 

In life we run the onward race, 

And reach the goal ; 

When, in the mansions of the blest, 

Death leaves to its eternal rest 

The weary soul. 



Did we but use it as we ought, 
This world would school each wander- 
ing thought 
To its high state. 

Faith wings the soul beyond the sky, 
Up to that better world on high, 
For which we wait. 

Yes, — the glad messenger of love, 
To guide us to our home above, 
The Saviour came ; 
Born amid mortal cares and fears, 
He suffered in this vale of tears 
A death of shame. 

Behold of what delusive worth 
The bubbles we pursue on earth, 
The shapes we chase ; 
Amid a world of treachery ! 
They vanish ere death shuts the eye, 
And leave no trace. 

Time steals them from us, — chances 

strange, 
Disastrous accidents, and change, 
That come to all ; 
Even in the most exalted state, 
Relentless sweeps the stroke of fate ; 
The strongest fall. 

Tell me, — the charms that levers seek 
In the clear eye and blushing cheek, 
The hues that play 
O'er rosy lip and brow of snow. 
When hoary age approaches slow, 
Ah, where are they ? 



The glorious strength that youth imparts ; 
In life's first stage ; 
These shall become a heavy weight, 
When Time swings wide his outward 

gate 
To weary age. 



The noble blood of Gothic name, 
Heroes emblazoned high to fame, 
In long array ; 

How, in the onward course of time, 
The landmarks of that race sublime 
Were swept away ! 

Some, the degraded slaves of lust, 
Prostrate and trampled in the dust, 
Shall rise no more ; 
Others, by guilt and crime, maintain 
The scutcheon, that, without a stain, 
Their fathers bore. 

Wealth and the high estate of pride, 

With what untimely speed they glide. 

How soon depart ! 

Bid not the shadowy phantoms stay, 

The vassals of a mistress they, 

Of fickle heart. 

These gifts in Fortune's hands are 

found ; 
Her swift revolving wheel turns round, 
And they are gone ! 
No rest the inconstant goddess knows, 
But changing, and without repose, 
Still hurries on. 

Even cou?d the hand of avarice save 
Its gilded baubles, till the grave 
Reclaimed its prey, 
Let none on such poor hopes rely ; 
Life, like an empty dream, flits by, 
And where are they ? 



COP LAS DE 
Earthly desires and sensual lust 
A re p . inging from the dust, — 

le and die ; 
But, in nd the tomb, 

ll the imn. doom 

Eternally ! 

The pleasures and d :h mask 

In treachi rou n life b Bern i 
What are they, all, 
But tfa 

And death an an.' 

Kill ? 

iy, — but u:. 
\\ it li !■ 
And, when 

. 

with a cunni 

lake the glorious spirit bright 
With heavenly grace, — 

How I hour 

I Yet leave th 

..irful and the strong, 

. time. 
Saw. by the -" ' 
Their !.' 
Their race bu 

hampion? who the strong? 

On these shall f.Jl 



543 



e hand of Death, 
n it stays the shep: 



I speak not of the Trojan name, 

ry nor its shame 
Has met our 
Not of R • and gloriou 

I 

Little avails it now 

1 : 

Nor 1. 
I 

■ 

i i cm] 

In bottle done? 

plume, — 

i 

Their 

>land breath t flame, 

rati badotir J 
tnbotir 

They loi 

Theflowingn !.t with gold, 

The dancers wore ? 



544 

And he who next the sceptre swayed, 

Henry, whose royal court displayed 

Such power and pride ,• 

O, in what winning smiles arrayed, 

The world its various pleasures laid 

His throne beside ! 



TRANSLA TIONS. 

Breathe not a whisper of his pride, — 
He on the gloomy scaffold died, 
Ignoble fall ! 



But O, how false and full of guile 
That world which wore so soft a smile 
But to betray ! 

She, that had been his friend before, 
Now from the fated monarch tore 
Her charms away. 

The countless gifts, — the stately walls, 

The royal palaces, and halls 

All filled with gold ; 

Plate with armorial bearings wrought, 

Chambers with ample treasures fraught 

Of wealth untold ; 

The noble steeds and harness bright, 
And gallant lord, and stalwart knight, 
In rich array, — 

Where shall we seek them now ? Alas ! 
Like the bright dewdrops on the grass, 
They passed away. 

His brother, too, whose factious zeal 
Usurped the sceptre of Castile, 
Unskilled to reign ; 
What a gay, brilliant court had he, 
When all the flower of chivalry 
Was in his train ! 

But he was mortal ; and the breath, 
That flamed from the hot forge of Death, 
Blasted his years ; 

Judgment of God ! that flame by thee, 
When raging fierce and fearfully, 
W^as quenched in tears ! 

Spain's haughty Constable, — the true 
And gallant Master, whom we knew 
Most loved of alL 



The countless treasures of his care, 
His hamlets green and cities fair, 
His mighty power, — 
What were they ail but grief and shame? 
Tears and a broken heart, when camc : 
The parting hour ? 

His other brothers, proud and high, 
Masters, who, in prosperity, 
Might rival kings ; 
Who made the bravest and the best 
The bondsmen of their high behest, 
Their underlings ; 

What was their prosperous estate, 
When high exalted and elate 
With power and pride ? 
What, but a transient gleam of light, 
A flame, which, glaring at its height, 
Grew dim and died ? 

So many a duke of royal name, 
Marquis and count of spotless fame, 
And baron brave, 

That might the sword of empire wield, 
All these, O Death, hast thou concealed 
In the dark grave ! 

Their deeds of mercy and of arms, 
In ^peaceful days, or war's alarms, 
When thou dost show, 
O Death, thy stern and angry face, 
One stroke of thy all-powerful mace 
Can overthrow. 

Unnumbered hosts, that threaten nigh, 
Pennon and standard flaunting high, 
And flag displayed ; 
High battlements intrenched around, 
Bastion, and moated wall, and mound, 
And palisade, 



1 World ! so few the years we live, 
-\ ouki that the life which thou dost give 
\ ere life indeed ! 

Das ! thy sorrows fall so fist, 
»ur happiest hour 18 when at last 

*he soul is freed. 

r with grief, 
id sorrows neither few no: 
•il all in gloom ; 

\ ithin this cheerles • Bolitu 
o plea lures bloom. 

f hy pik 

nd ends in bitter doubts and I 
\r dark despair ; 

idway so many toils appear, 
[hat he who lingers longest here 

nows most of eare. 

fhy goods are bought with many a 

groan. 

|y the hot sweat of toil alone, 
ind weary hearts ; 
Meet-footed is the approach of woe, 
lut with a lingering step and slow 
O form departs. 

K nd he, the good man's shield and shade, 
10 whom all lu-arts their homage paid, 
\s Virtue's son, — 
toderic Manrique, — he whose name 
" written on the scroll of Fame, 
Spain's champion ; 

HCIs signal deeds and prowess high 
Demand no pompous eulogy, — 
|fe saw his deeds ! 



. ' '£• 54.' 

Why should their praise in verse be 

The name, that dwells on ever)' tongue, 

friend ; — how kind to all 
The vassals of this ancient hall 
And feudal E 

To foes how stem a foe was he ! 
And to the valiant and the free 
How brave a chief! 

What prudence with the old and wise: 
What grace in youthful gaieties ; 
In all i 

Benignant to the serf and 
the ba^e and i 
A Hon' 

i I .: conquering 

At battle's call ; 

pio's virtue; his, the skill 
And the indomitable will 
of Hannibal. 

Ill was a Trajan's goodness, — his 

A Titus' noble charities 

And righteous laws ; 

The arm of rlectOTj and the might 

Of Tully, to maintain the right 

In truth's just cause: 

The clemency of Antonine, 
Aurelius' countenance divine, 
Firm, gentle, still ; 
The eloquence of Adrian, 
And Theodosius' love to man, 
And generous will : 

In tented field and bloody fray, 
An Alexander's vigorous sway 
And stern command ; 
The faith of Constantine ; ay, more, 
The fervent love Camillus bore 
His native land. 



TRANSLA TIO^ 



546 

He left no well-filled treasury, 

He heaped no pile of riches high, 

Nor massive plate ; 

He fought the Moors, — and, in their fall, 

City and tower and castle wall 

Were his estate. 

Upon the hard-fought battle-ground, 
Brave steeds and gallant riders found 
A common grave ; 

And there the warrior's hand did gain 
The rents, and the long vassal train, 
That conquest gave. 

And if, of old, his halls displayed 
The honoured and exalted grade 
His worth had gained, 
So, in the dark, disastrous hour, 
Brothers and bondsmen of his power 
His hand sustained. 

After high deeds, not left untold, 
In the stern warfare, which of old 
'Twas his to share, 
Such noble leagues he made, that more 
And fairer regions, than before, 
His guerdon were. 

These are the records, half effaced, 
Which, with the hand of youth, he 

traced 
On history's page ; 
But with fresh victories he drew 
Each fading character anew 
In his old age. 

By his unrivalled skill, by great, 
And veteran sen-ice to the state, 
By worth adored, 
He stood, in his high dignity, 
The proudest knight of chivalry 
Knight of the Sword. 

He found his cities and domains 
Beneath a tyrant's galling chains 
And cruel power ; 



But by fierce battle and blockade 
Soon his own banner was displayed 
From every towers 

By the tried valour of his hand, 

His monarch and his native land 

Were nobly served ; — 

Let Portugal repeat the story, 

And proud Castile, who shared the glory 

His arms deserved. 

And when so oft, for weal or woe, 
His life upon the fatal throw 
Had been cast down ; 
When he had served with patriot zea 
Beneath the banner of Castile, 
His sovereign's crown ; 

And done such deeds of valour* strong 
That neither history nor song 
Can count them all ; 
Then, on Ocafia's castled rock, 
Death at his portal came to knock, 
With sudden call, — 

Saying, " Good Cavalier, prepare 
To leave this world of toil and care 
With joyful mien ; 
Let thy strong heart of steel this day 
Put on its armour for the fray, — 
The closing scene. 

" Since thou hast been in battle-strife 
So prodigal of health and life, 
For earthly fame, 
Let virtue nerve thy heart again ? 
Loud on the last stern battle-plain 
They call thy name. 

" Think not the struggle that draws ne; 
Too terrible for man, — nor fear 
To meet the foe ; 
Nor let thy noble spirit grieve. 
Its life of glorious fame to leave 
On earth below. 



COP LAS DE MANRIQUE. 






F honour and of worth 
ts no eternity on earth, — 
is but a 
id yet its glory 

Hid sensual life, whi 

ealth cannot purchase, nor the high 
id prr 

id, — the spirit 
i b sin, — shall not ii 

tut the good monk 
Khali gain il '11, 

And the biave knight, i 

end ■:■ 

'• And thou, 

The lif - 

pier all the land, 

In heaven ah ill thou re • ive.at I 

The guerdon of thine earthly Bti 

.\nd dau 

Cheered onv 

and pure 
Thou 0a> t pn 

■Depart. — thy hop — 

(Che third — 
i halt thou po 

O Death, no more, no i 
ply spirit longs to Hee away, 

And I 

Note. — Don Joroi [ ' r of the preceding poem, flourished in the 

I st halfol : a, in his 

- honourable mention of him, as bcine: present at the 

war pave 

Trillium proofs of his valour. mortally wounded in a 

kkirmishi cut off from lot - exercising 

and exhibiting to the world the light of his genius, which was already 

known to fame." 



The wiD of heaven my will shall be, — 
I bow to the divine decree, 
To God's behest 

ul is ready to depart. 
No thought rebels, the obedient heart 
■ 

to linger Still 

will 

" O Thou, that for our si 

A hunian form, and humbly n 

Thy Ik;,. 

Thou, tl inity 

rial birth, 
•• And in that form d'ukt suffer her? 

And not for o 

U | the dying wani 
\\ ithout one gathering mist or 

:.is mind ; 
Encircl truly, 

Dtle eye 
. ud ; 

His soul to Him, who gave it. rose; 

id it to its long repose, 
Its glo: 

And though the warrior's sun has set, 

ht shall linger row 

. 



548 , TRANSLA TIONS. 



THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA. 

Shepherd ! that with thine amorous, sylvan song 

Hast broken the slumber which encompassed me, — 

That mad'st thy crook from the accursed tree, 

On which thy powerful arms were stretched so long ! 

Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains ; 

For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be 3 

I will obey thy voice, and wait to see 

Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains. 

Hear, Shepherd ! — Thou who for thy flock art dying, 

O, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou 

Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow. 

O, wait ! — to thee my weary soul is crying, — 

Wait for me ! — Yet why ask it when I see, 

With feet nailed to the cross, thou'rt waiting still for me! 



TO-MORROW. 

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA. 

Lord, what am I, that, with unceasing care, 

Thou didst seek after me, — that thou didst wait, 

Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate, 

And pass the gloomy nights of winter there ? 

O strange delusion ! — that I did not greet 

Thy blest approach, and O, to Heaven how lost, 

If my ingratitude's unkindly frost 

Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. 

How oft my guardian angel gently cried, 

" Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see 

How he persists to knock and wait for thee !" 

And, O ! how often to that voice of sorrow 

"To-morrow we will open," I replied, 

And when the morrow came I answered still, c To-morrow.' 



THE IMAGE OF GOD. 549 



THE NATIVE LAND. 

FROM THE SPANISH OF FUANCISCO DC A LOAM A, 

Clear fount of light ! my native land on high, 
Bright with a glory that shall never fade ! 
Mansion of truth! without a veil or shade, 
Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's 
There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence,, 
Grasping no longer for life's feeble breath; 
But sentinel'd in heaven, its glorious pres 
With pitying eye beholds, yet tears not, death. 

1 d country ! banished from thy 5] 
A stranger in this prison-hous 
The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for thee ! 
Heavenward the bright perfections I adore 
Direct, and the Mire promise cheers the 
That, whither love aspires, there shall my dwell:: 



THE IMAGE OF ( 

FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO Dl ALDAN A. 

() Lord! that seest, from yon starry height, 
Centred in one the future and the , 
Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast 
The world obscures in me what once was bright! 
Eternal Sun ! the warmth which thou hast given 
To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays \ 
Yet, in the hoary winter of my d 
For ever green shall be my trust in Heaven. 
Celestial Kmg! O let thy presence 
my spirit, and an image fair 
Shall meet that look of mercy from on high, 
A^ the reflected image in a glass 
Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there, 
And owes its being to the gazer's 1 



$$o TRANSLA TIONS. 

THE BROOK. 

FROM THE SPANISH. 

Laugh of the mountain ! — lyre of bird and tree ! 

Pomp of the meadow ! mirror of the morn ! 

The soul of April, unto whom are born 

The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee ! 

Although, where'er thy devious current strays, 

The lap of earth with gold and silver teems, 

To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems 

Than golden sands that charm each shepherd's gaze. 

How without guile thy bosom, all transparent 

As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye 

Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count : 

How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current ! 

O sweet simplicity of days gone by ! 

Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in humid fount ! 



THE CELESTIAL PILOT. 

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, II. 

And now, behold ! as at the approach of morning, 
Through the gross vapours, Mars grows fiery red 
Down in the west upon the ocean floor, 

Appeared to me, — may I again behold it ! — 
A light along the sea, so swiftly coming, 
Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled. 

And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little 
Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor. 
Again I saw it brighter grown and larger. 

Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared 

I knew not what of white, and underneath, 

Little by little, there came forth another. 

My master yet had uttered not a word, 
While the first brightness into wings unfolded | 
But, when he clearly recognised the pilot. 



THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE, y j{ 

He cried aloud : " Qh 

Behold the wod ! fold up thy hand 

Henci I 

U human arguments, 
tl no oar he wants, nor other sail 
Than his own wings, betwi 

. how he holds ti . ;iu to 1km 

That do not moult themselves like mortal ha 

And then, as nearer and more ne;ir US ( 
The Bird of Heaven, i red, 

eould not 

it ; and be 
With ightj 

So that the water swallowed QOUg 

the stern stood the Celestial 

Beat! 

And more than a hundred : . .'.hin. 

" /// I 

With whatso in that Psalm is after written. 

Then made he sign of holy : 

Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore) 

And I he came, 



THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE. 

FROM DANTE. PURG.YTOFUO, XXV11I. 

Longing already to search in and round 
The h< and living m 

Which to the eyes tempered the new-born day, 

Withouten more delay I left the bank, 
sing the level country slowly, slowly, 

rywhere breathed fragrance. 



S5 2 TEA NSLA TIONS. 

A gently-breathing air, that no mutation 
Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead, 
No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze, 

Whereat the tremulous branches readily 

Did all of them bow downward towards that side 

Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain - 

Yet not from their upright direction bent 
So that the little birds upon their tops 
Should cease the practice of their tuneful art ; 

But, with full-throated joy, the hours of prime 
Singing received they in the midst of foliage 
That made monotonous burden to their rhymes, 

Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells, 
Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi, 
When iEolus unlooses the Sirocco. 

Already my slow steps had led me on 

Into the ancient wood so far, that I 

Could see no more the place where I had entered. 

And lo ! my farther course cut oft a river 
Which, towards the left hand, with its little waves, 
Bent down the grass, that on its margin sprang. 

All waters that on earth most limpid are, 

Would seem to have within themselves some mixture, 

Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal, 

Although it moves on with a brown, brown current, 
Under the shade perpetual, that never 
Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon. 



BEATRICE. 

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXX. XXXI. 

Even as the Blessed, in the new covenant, 
Shall rise up quickened, each one from his grave, 
Wearing again the garments of the flesh; 



BE A TRICE. 
So, upon that celestial chariot, 
A hundred rose ad vocem ianti senis, 
Ministers and messengers of life eternal. 

til were saying : " Benedicts qui 
And scattering I >ve and round about, 

" Manilas date lilia {>. 

I once beheld, at the appro.. 

The orient sky all stained with roseate I 

And the other heaven with light .serene adorned, 

And the sun'-. Lice uprising, overshadowed, 
So that, by temperate influ nee ofvaj 
The eye sustained his aspect for long while; 

Thus m the bosom of a cloud of flow i 

Which from those hands an thrown up, 

And now descended inside an 

With crown of olive < • bite veil, 

Appeared a lady, under :iille, 

Vested in colours of the living flame. 



Even as i he snow, among the living rafters 
Upon the back ol 
Blown on and beaten ! 

And then - through it 

Whene'er the land, th.n loses shadow, bread . 

Like as a taper melts before a lire, 

Even such I was, without a sigh or tear, 
Before the song of those who chime for ever 
Alter the chiming of the eternal spheres; 

But when I heard in those sweet melodies 
Compassion for me, more than they bad said, 

"O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus consume him?" 

The ice that was about my heart congealed, 
To air and water changed, and, in my anguish, 
Through lips and eyes came gushing from my breast. 



TjRANSLA tions. 

Confusion and dismay, together mingled, 
Forced such a feeble " Yes ! " out of my mouth, 
To understand it one had need of sight. 

Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 'tis discharged, 
Too tensely drawn the bow-string and the bow, 
And with less force the arrow hits the mark j 

So I gave way under this heavy burden, 
Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs, 
And the voice, fainting, nagged upon its passage, 



SPRING. 

FR01I THE FRENCH OF CHARLES D'ORLEANS. 
XV. CENTURY. 

Gentle Spring ! — in sunshine clad, 

Well dost thou thy power display ! 
For Winter maketh the light heart sad, 

And thou, — thou makest the sad heart gay. 
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train, 
The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain ; 
And they shrink away, and they flee in fear, 

When thy merry step draws near. 

Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old, 

Their beards of icicles and snow ; 
And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold, 

We must cower over the embers low ; 
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather, 
Mope like birds that are changing feather. 
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear, 

When thy merry step draws near. 

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky 
Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud * 

But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh ; 
Thou tearest away the mournful shroud, 

And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly, 

Who has toiled for nought both late and early, 

Is banished afar by the new-born year, 
When thy merry step draws near. 



i 




'•'Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place 

Thy drowsy eyelids on thy mother's breast." 



the Child Asleep. 






THE BIRD AXD THE SHIP. 555 

THE CHILD ASLEEP. 

FROM . 

Sweet babe ! true portrait of tin i . v, 

. .hat thy lip*. ha\ 

Sleep, little pne \ and 1 

Thy drowsy eyelid on thy moth. 

my little friend, 

• cometh not to me ! 
I wafc !i to e :i' p, nourish thee, 

Tia BWeet to watch with thee, alone for \\ 

. i inns fall di tpOD his br. 1 

His < .arm. 

ik the appl IOW, 

Woul I 

Awak ' —I trembl 

ike, and c base this fatal thou 

Thine eye bill for 006 moment ciii the light ! 

Even at tl 

Sweet error! — Ik- Inn dipt, — I ! n; 

Come, gentle dreams, the hour oi sleep beguile! 

!i in vain, 
Beside me watch to see thy waking smile 1 



THE BIRD AND THE SHIP. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLUIt. 

"The riv< P8 rash into the sea, 

Bj ca tie and town they go; 
The winds behind them merrily 

Their noisy tnjrapets blow. 

" Th 

We little birds in th 
And everything, that can sing an : 

Goes with us, and far away. 



$$6 TRANSLATIONS. 

" I greet thee, bonny boat ! Whither, or whence, 

With thy fluttering golden band r" — 
" I greet thee, little bird ! To the wide sea 
I haste from the narrow land. 

" Full and swollen is every sail 5 

I see no longer a hill, 
I have trusted all to the sounding gale, 

And it will not let me stand still. 

" And wilt thou, little bird, go with us ? 

Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall, 
For full to sinking is my house 

With merry companions all." — 

" I need not and seek not company, 
Bonny boat, I can sing all alone ; 

For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, 
Bonny boat, I have wings of my own. 

" High over the sails, high over the mast, 

Who shall gainsay these joys ? 
When thy merry companions are still, at last. 

Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice. 

" Who neither may rest, nor listen may, 

God bless them every one ! 
I dart away, in the bright blue day, 

And the golden fields of the sun. 

"Thus do I sing my weary song, 

Wherever the four winds blow; 
And this same song, my whole life long, 

Neither Poet nor Printer may know." 



KING CHRISTIAN. 

A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK. FROM THE DANISH OF JOHANNES EV.'.LD. 

King Christian stood by the lofty mast 

In mist and smoke ; 
His sword was hammering so fast, 
Through Gothic helm and brain it passed 5 
Then sank each hostile hulk and mast. 

In mist and smoke. 



THE GRAVE. 557 

" Fly !" shouted they, " fly, he who can ! 
"Who braves oi Denmark's Christian 
The stroll 

Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest's roar, 

Now is the hour! 
He hoisted his blood-red flag onee more, 
And smote upon the foe foil 
And shouted loud, through the tempers roar, 

" Now is the hour!" 
" Fly !" shouted they, " lor shelter fly ! 
Of Denmark's Joel who can 

The pov 

North Sea ! a gl rent 

Thy murky ^ky ! 
Then champions to thine arms w< 

Terror and Death glared u here i 
From the waves was heard a wad, thai 

Thy murk;. 
From Denmark, thunders Torch:. I 

Let each to Heaven commend his soul* 

And lh ! 

Path of tlu- I) me to feme and might ! 

1 ^ark-rolling wave 1 
;: thy friend, v. 1- Bight, 

Goes to meet danger with despite, 
Proudly as thou the tempest's might, 

Dark-rolling v. . 
And amid pleasure s and alarms, 
And war and victory, be thine arms 

My grave ! 



THE GRAVE. 



FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON*. 



For thee was a house built 
Ere thou wast born, 
For thee was a mould meant 
Ere thou of mother earnest. 
But it is not made ready 



Nor is it seen 
How long it shall be. 
Now I bring thee 
Where thou shalt be • 
Now I shall measure thee, 



Nor its depth measured, And the mould afterward: 



533 

Thy house is not 
Highly timbered, 
It is unhigh and low $ 
When thou art therein. 
The heel-ways are low, 
The side-ways unhigh. 
The roof is built 
Thy breast full nigh, 
So thou shalt in mould 
Dwel full cold, 
Dimly and dark. 



Doorless is that house, 
And dark it is within ; 
There thou art fast detained, 
And Death hath the key. 



TRANSLATIONS. 

Loathsome is that earth-house. 
And grim within to dwell. 
There thou shalt dwell, 
And worms shall divide thee. 



Thus thou art laid, 
And leavest thy friends 3 
Thou hast no friend, 
Who w r ill come to thee, 
Who will ever see 
How that house pleaseth thee -, 
Who will ever open 
The door for thee 
And descend after thee, 
For soon thou art loathsome 
And hateful to see. 



THE WAVE. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF TIEDGE. 



"Whither, thou turbid wave ? 
Whither, with so much haste, 
As if a thief wert thou ?" 

" I am the Wave of Life, 
Stained with my margin's dustj 



From the struggle and the strife 
Of the narrow stream I fly 
To the Sea's immensity, 
To wash from me the slime 
Of the muddy banks of Time." 



THE HAPPIEST LAXD. 



FRAGMENT OF A MODERN BALLAD. 
FROM THE GERMAN. 



There sat one day in quiet. 
By an alehouse on the Rhine, 

Four hale and hearty fellows, 
And drank the precious wine. 

The landlord's daughter filled their 
cups 
Around the rustic board ; 



Then sat they all so calm and still, 
And spake not one rude word. 

But, when the maid departed, 
A Swabian raised his hand, 

And cried, all hot and flushed with 
wine, 
" Long live the Swab:.::: land ! 



WHITHER 






The greatest kingdom up 
I lannot with that com] 
ith all tl ly men 

the nut-brown maidens 
there." 

bing, — 

. had rather live- in Lapland, 
[Than that Swabian land of thine! 

fit is the Saxon 1 u 



"Hold your tongues ! both Swabian 
>:i !" 
>ld Bohemian ci 
"Ifther t upon this earth, 

Bohemia ii I 

"Tin-- flute, 

. | the horn, 
And the in 

* * * * 

I, — 



WH11 






HEARD .1 brook! 
Prom it i rocky fountain 
Lwn into the valli . 

• me, 

it I mu ; 'd. 

All with my pilgrim- 



|ownward, ai d 

And ever the brook I 
.v. A ever fi «her murmured. 

And ever dearer, the 



v I was goi 

murmur, 
Mum 

What do I Bay of a murmur? 
I can no murmur I 

Bulging 
Their roundelays under 

Let them sin.-, my friend, let 

murmur, 

oing 

In every brooklet clear. 



S6o 



TRANSLATIONS. 



BEWARE ! 



FROM THE GERMAN. 



I know a maiden fair to see, 

Take care ! 
She can both false and friendly be, 

Beware ! Beware ! 

Trust her not, 
She is fooling thee ! 

She has two eyes, so soft and brown, 

Take care ! 
She gives a side-glance and looks down, 

Beware! Beware! 

Trust her not, 
She is fooling thee ! 

And she has hair of a golden hue, 

Take care ! 
And what she says, it is not true, 



Beware ! Beware ! 
Trust her not, 
She is fooling thee ! 

She has a bosom as white as snow, 

Take care ! 
She knows how much it is best to show 

Beware! Beware ! 

Trust her not, 
She is fooling thee ! 

She gives thee a garland woven fair, 

Take care ! 
It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear, 

Beware ! Beware ! 

Trust her net, 
She is fooling thee ! 



SOXG OF THE BELL. 



FROM THE GERMAN. 



Bell ! thou soundest merrily, 
When the bridal party 

To the church doth hie ! 
Bell ! thou soundest solemnly, 
W r hen, on Sabbath morning, 

Fields deserted lie ! 

Bell ! thou soundest merrily ; 
Tellest thou at evening, 

Bed-time draweth nigh ! 
Bell ! thou soundest mournfully ; 
Tellest thou the bitter 

Parting hath gone by ! 



Say ! how canst thou mourn ? 
How canst thou rejoice ? 

Thou art but metal dull ! 
And yet all our sorrowings, 
And all our rejoicings, 

Thou dost feel them all ! 

Gcd hath wonders many, 
Which we cannot fathom, 

Placed within thy form ! 
When the heart is sinking, 
Thou alone canst raise it, 

Trembling in the storm ! 



THE CASTLE BY THE SEA. 



5<* 



THE DEAD. 



FROM THE GLKMAN OF KL01STOCK. 



How they so softly rest, 
All, all the holy dead, 
Unto who e dwelling-place 
Now doth my soul draw near ! 
How they so softly rest, 
All in their silent gr 
Deep to corruption 
Slowly down sinking ! 



And they no lo:. 
Here, where complaint is still ! 
And they no longer feel, 
Here, where 
And by the cy| 
Softly o'ershadowed, 
Until the Ai 
Calls them, they dun 



THE CASTLE BY THE MA. 



FltoM TBI GERM \n 



-Iast thou seen that lordly 
That Castle by the Sea ? ' 
blden and red above it 

The clouds iloat gorgeously. 

hid fain it would stoop downward 

To the mirrored wave below ; 
id fain it v ould soar upv. 

Jn the evening's crimson glow." 

Veil have I seen that castle, 
[That Castle by the 

\ the moon above it standing, 
And the mist rise solemnly." 

i he winds and the waves of ocean, 
1 [ad they a merry chime ? 
dst thou hear, from th< 

chambers, 
The harp and the minstrel'j rhyme?" 



and the waves of ocean, 
They rested quietly ; 
But I heard on the gale a sound of wail, 

And tears came to mine 

LWest thou on the turrets 
The King and his royal 
And the wave of their crimson mantles ? 
And the golden crown of pride? 

"Led they not forth, in rapture, 
A beauteous maiden there? 

Resplendent as the morning sun, 
Beaming with golden hair?" 

" Well saw I the ancient parents ; 

Without the crown of pride ; 
They were moving slow, in weeds of 
woe. 

No maiden was by their side !" 



5(52 



TRANSLATIONS. 



THE BLACK KNIGHT. 



FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 



'T was Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness, 
When woods and fields put off all sad- 
ness, 

Thus began the King and spake; 
"So from the halls 
Of ancient Hof burg's walls, 

A luxuriant Spring shall break." 

Drums and trumpets echo loudly, 
Wave the crimson banners proudly. 

From balcony the King looked on; 
In the play of spears, 
Fell all the cavaliers, 

Before the monarch's stalwart soru 

To the barrier of the fight 
Rode at last a sable Knight. 
"Sir Knight! your name and scut- 
cheon say I" 
" Should I speak it here, 
Ye would stand aghast with fear; 
I am a Prince of mighty sway !" 

When he rode into the lists, 
The arch of heaven grew black with 
mists, 

And the castle 'gan to i-ock. 
At the first blow, 
Fell the youth from saddle-bow, 

Hardly rises from the shock. 

Pipe and viol call the dances, 
Torch -light through the high hall 
glances ; 

Waves a mighty shadow in ; 
With manner bland 
Doth ask the maiden's hand, 

Doth with her the dance begin ; 



Danced in sable iron sark, 
Danced a measure weird and dark, 
Coldly clasped her limbs around. 
From breast and hair 
Down fall from her the fair 
Flowerets, faded, to the ground. 



To the sumptuous banquet came 
Every Knight and every Dame. 

Twixt son and daughter all dis 
traught, 
With mournful mind 
The ancient Knight reclined, 

Gazed at them in silent thought. 



Pale the children both did look, 
But the guest a beaker took ; 

" Golden wine wall make you whole ! 
The children drank, 
Gave many a courteous thank ; 

" Oh, that draught was very cool I 



Each the father's breast embraces, 
Son and daughter ; and their faces 

Colourless grow utterly. 
Whichever way 
Looks the fear-struck father grey, 

He beholds his children die. 

" Woe ! the blessed children both 
Takest thou in the joy of youth ; 

Take me, too, the joyless father !' 
Spake the grim Guest, 
From his hollow, cavernous breast, 

" Roses in the spring I gather A 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LOR&S SUPPER. 



5 6 3 






LA AD. 



I The Future's 
to*? dtend! 

"*****¥"« ilnndoth 



ther, 
ud fluttered ut 

Land ? 



Into ;' 

ind ! 
For al! : 

ch dotli 

1 



-I0,M the Silent I. 



THE CHILDRJ \ 

. 

I no inconsiderable reputation 
n, round which 

Rjwhle underfoot is s| 

r, the wall, of which are hung round with rude, 
a curdled milk from the pan, with oau 
ile, the sturdy husband has brought his horses 1 

-come and go in uncouth.: 
md have hanging around their , 
h they carry tobacco, and the great bank-notes of the 



: 



564 TRANSLA TIONS. 

in pursuit of work, carrying in their hands their shoes, which have high heels und< 
the hollow of the foot, and soles of birch bark. 

Frequent, too, are the village churches, standing by the road-side. In the churchyard 
are a few flowers, and much grten grass. The grave-stones are flat, large, low, and 
perhaps sunken, like the roofs of old houses; the tenants all sleeping with their heads 
to the westward. Each held a lighted taper in his hand when he died; and in his 
coffin were placed his little heart-treasures, and a piece of money for his last journey. 
Babes that came lifeless into the world were carried in the arms of grey-haired old men 
to the only cradle they ever slept in; and in the shroud of the dead mother were laid 
the little garments of the child, that lived and died in her bosom. Near the church- 
yard gate stands a poor-box, with a sloping roof over it, fastened to a post by iron? 
bands, and secured by a padlock. If it be Sunday, the peasants sit on the church steps 
and con their psalm-books. Others are coming down the road, listening to their beloved 
pastor. He is their patriarch, and, like Melchizedek, both priest and king, though h I 
has no other throne than the church pulpit. The women carry psalm-books in the i 
hands, wrapped in silk handkerchiefs, and listen devoutly to the good man's words 
But the young men, like Gallio, care for none of these things. They are busy countin % 
the plaits in the kirtles of the peasant girls, their number being an indication of tr X 
wearer's wealth. 

I must not forget to speak of the suddenly changing seasons of the Northern clime.': 
There is no long spring, gradually unfolding leaf and blossom; — no lingering autumns: 
pompous with many-coloured leaves. But winter and summer are wonderful, ant I 
pass into each other. The quail has hardly ceased piping in the corn, when wintei 
from the folds of trailing clouds sows broad-cast over the land snow, icicles, and rattling 
hail. The days wane apace. Ere long the sun hardly rises above the horizon, or doefr: 
not rise at all. The moon and the stars shine through the day; only, at noon, they." 
are pale and wan, and in the southern sky a red, fiery glow, as of sunset, burns along. 
the horizon, and then goes out. And pleasantly under the silver moon, and twinkling 
stars, ring the steel shoes of the skaters on the frozen sea, and voices, and the sound 
of bells. 

And now the Northern Lights begin to burn, faintly at first, like sunbeams playing in J' 
the waters of the blue sea. Then a soft crimson glow tinges the heavens. There is HI 
blush on the cheek of night. The colours come and go; and change from crimson tc 
gold, from gold to crimson. The snow is stained with rosy light. Twofold froi 
the zenith, east and west, flames a fiery sword; and a broad band passes athwart 
heavens, like a summer sunset. Soft purple clouds come sailing over the sky, 
through their vapoury folds the winking stars shine white as silver. With such pomp" 
as this is Merry Christmas ushered in, though only a single star heralded the first - 
Christmas. And in memory of that day the Swedish peasants dance on straw; and the j 
peasant girls throw straws at the timbered roof of the hall, and for every one that sticky 
in a crack shall a groomsman come to their wedding. Merry indeed is Christmas-time 
for Swedish peasants: brandy and nut-brown ale in wooden bowls; and the great : 
Yulecake crowned with a cheese, and garlanded with apples, and upholding a three- :; 
armed candlestick over the Christmas feast. r 

And now leafy mid-summer, full of blossoms and the song of nightingales, is come 
In every village there is a May-pole fifty feet high, with wreaths and roses and ribancF "" 
streaming in the wind, and a noisy weathercock on top. The sun does not set ti 
ten o'clock at night; and the children are at play in the streets an hrur later. TI) 
windows and doors are all open, and you may sit and read till midnight without a candle ■ 
O how beautiful is the summer night, which is not night, but a sunless yet uncloudec.. 
day, descending upon earth with dews, and shadows, and refreshing coolness ! How 
beautiful the long, mild twilight, which unites to-day with yesterday! How beautift' " 
the silent hour, when Morning and Evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneat; _ 
the starless sky of midnight! From the church-tower in the pi'hlic square the Del - 






THE CHILDREN OE THE LORD'S SCI PEE. 565 
'lis the hour, with a sofr, musical chime; and the watchman, v.h * watch-tower is 
Lc belfry, blows a blast on his horn, for each stroke or the hammer, and io^i 
r the tuur corners ot the heai , — 

<; Ho ! watchman, ho ! 

I 

From rue und brand, 
And hostile hand! 
.vc is die clock !" 

irom his swallow's nest in the belie, the sun all night long; and tarthei 

brth the priest stands at his door in the warm midnight, and lights his pipe with a 

itmmon burning* 

, 1 trust that thee remarks will not be deemed irrelevant to the poem, but will 

i: learer understanding of it. The translation is lit, 1 

Ive I done the author .. 

nt. or embellishment which.it 

'. the motions 0< the Engl t unlike tha 

lancing 

:•'_, "the won :.r is not that she should do It BO v.eil. hut that ■: | at all/' 

. the author of this poem, v. : inland, 

1 1&2. hi 1 f\ 
ippointed Profeasoi ot Greek in that institution. In 18a 

\Nexi>.. He 

ts Dying or dead, lb irkabk 

:tmsof i: . honoured 11. I . ng one 

re to the list 0! great name that adorn her histi 

(vtbcost, day of rejoicing, bad come. The 1 horch of the village 

earning stood in the mornings sheen. On the spire of the i 
ped with a vane of metal, the friendly flames of the Spring-sun 
need like the tongues ol fire, beheld in- Apostles aforetime. 

ir was the heaven and blue, and May, with her cap crowned by 1 
•d in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brooklet 
-mured gladness and peace, God's-peace! with lips rosy-tinted 
ispered the race of the flowers, and merry on balancing branches 
s were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Higher. 
pt and clean was the churchyard. Adorned like a leaf-woven arbour 
^od its old-fashioned gate ; and within upon each cross of iron 
log was a fragrant garland, new twined by the hands of affection. 
1 pn the dial, that stood on a hillock among the departed 
j here full a hundred years had it stood), was embellished with blossoms, 
;c to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith and the hamlet, 
io on his birth-day is crowned by children and children's children, 
stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil of iron 
J |rked on the tablet of stone, and measured the time and its changes, 

■ ile all around at his feet an eternity slumbered in quiet. 
i ;« the church within was adorned, for this was the season 
ken the young, their parents' hope, and the loved ones of heaver,, 

T 



566 TRANSLA TIOXS. 

Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of their baptism. 
Therefore each nook and corner was swept and cleaned, and the dust was 
Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from the oil-painted benches. 
There stood the church like a garden ; the Feast of the Leafy Pavilions* 
Saw we in living presentment. From noble arms on the church wall 
Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher's pulpit of oak-wood 
Budded once more anew, as aforetime the rod before Aaron. 
Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and the dove, washed with 

silver, 
Under its canopy fastened, had on it a necklace of wild-flowers. 
But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece painted by H6rberg,f 
Crept a garland gigantic ; and bright-curling tresses of angels 
Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, from out of the shadowy leaf-work 
Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, blinked from the ceiling, 
And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in the sockets. 



. 



Loud rang the bells already ; the thronging crowd was assembled 
Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy preaching. 
Hark I then roll forth at once the mighty tones from the organ, 
Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible spirits. 
Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast off from him his mantle, 
Even so cast off the soul its garments of earth ; and with one voice 
Chimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem immortal 
Of the sublime Wallin,| of David's harp in the North-land 
Tuned to the choral of Luther ; the song on its powerful pinions 
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven, 
And every face did shine like the Holy One's face upon Tabor. 
Lo ! there entered then into the church the Reverend Teacher. 
Father he hight and he was in the parish j a christianly plainness 
Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of seventy winters. 
Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the heralding angel 
Walked he among the crowds, but still a contemplative grandeur 
Lay on his forehead as clear, as on moss-covered grave-stcne a sunbeam 
As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that faintly 
Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the day of creation) 
Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint John when in Patmos, 
Grey, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then the old man; 
Siach was the glance of his eye, and such were his tresses of silver. 



* The Feast of the Tabernacles; in Swedish, Lofhyddohogtiden, the Leaf-huts'-high- 
tide. 

f The Peasant-painter of Sweden. He is known chiefly by his altar-pieces in 
village churches. 

$ A distinguished pulpit-orator and poet. He is particularly remarkable for 
beauty and sublimity of his psalms. 



the 
th« 



THE CHILD REX OF THE LORD'S supper. 
HI the congregation arose in the pews that were numbered, 
ut with a cordial look to die right and the left hand, the old n 
adding all hail and peace, di I :i the innermost chancel. 

Simply and proceeded tJ 

aging and prayer, and at last an ardent discourse from t! 
any a moving word and warning, that out ot the heart came, 
11 like the dew or' the morning, 1 '. 
[fterwards, when all was finish 
llowed therein by the young. On the right :. 
pi.: 

•lieate figures, with i !• sen arling hair, and ch 
tit on the left hand of these, there stood the treranlous 1 

nged w Ith the blushing light of the morning, the d;:; 
biding their hand-, in prayer, and th< /.own on the pav< 

low came, with question and answer, the ( 
nsWered the children With tr. ubled and falterinj 
lances ofkindrieSs encouraged 1 them soon, and the d 
lowed, like the \. 

hene'er the answer was closed, and as oft as they named the R 

owly lotted the bo) , an I !• 

riendly the Teacher stood, I !. re among i: 

nd to the children explained he the holy, ilk I »rd>, 

b, \rt simple and clear, for sublimity ;:' hple, 

>th in sermon and :! ' n g. 

uii as the green-grow ing bud is unfolded when Spring-tide appro 
eaf by leaf is" developed, and, the radiant sunshine, 

lushes with purple and gold, till at last the perfected bio 
[pens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its crown in the brct 

was unfolded here the Chrisl f salvation, 

'ine by line from the soul of childhood. The fathers and mothers 
lood behind them in tears, and were glad at each well-wor 

Now went the old man up to the altar j — and straightway transfigured 
^o did it seem unto me) was then the affectionate Teacher. 
ike the Lord's Prophet sublime, and awful as Death and as Judgment 
tood he, the God-commissioned, the soul-searcher, earth nding. 

lances, sharp as a sword, into hearts, that to him were transparent 
hot he; his voice was deep, was low like the thundi 
o on a sudden transfigured he stood there, he spake and he questioned. 

This is the faith of the Fathers, the Faith the Apostles delivered, 
liis is moreover the faith whereunto I baptized you, while still yc. 
ay on your mothers' breasts, and nearer the portals of heaven. 



our:: 



568 TRANSLATIONS. 

Slumbering received you then the Holy Church in its bosom ; 

Wakened from sleep are ye now,, and the light in its radiant splendoi 

Rains from the heaven downward, — to-day on the threshold of childhood -J 

Kindly she frees you again, to examine and make your election, 

For she knows nought of compulsion, and only conviction desireth. 

This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of existence, 

Seed for the coming days ; without revocation departeth 

Now from your lips the confession ; Bethink ye,before you make answer! 

Think not, O think not with guile to deceive the questioning Teacher. :: 

Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests upon faisenood. 

Enter not with a lie on Life's journey ; the multitude hears you,. 

Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear upon earth is and holy 

Standeth before your sight as a witness ; the Judge everlasting 

Looks from the sun down upon you, and angels in waiting beside hia 

Grave your confession in letters of tire, upon tablets eternal. 

Thus, then, — Believe ye in God, in the Father who this world created? •: 

Him who redeemed it, the Son, and the Spirit where both are united" ' 

Will ye promise me here, (a holy promise !) to cherish 

God more than all tilings earthly, and every man as a brother ? 

W T ill ye promise me here to confirm your faith by your living, 

Th' heavenly faith of affection ! to hope, to forgive, and to suffer, 

Be what it may your condition, and walk before God in uprightness ? - 

Will ye promise me this before God and man?" — with a clear voice 

Answered the young men Yes ! and Yes ! with lips softly breathing 

Answered the maidens eke. Then dissolved from the brow of the Teacher I . 

Clouds with the thunders therein, and he spake in accents more gentle, : : 

Soft as die evening's breath, as harps by Babylon's rivers. 

" HaiL then, hail to you all ' To the heirdom of heaven be ye welcome ! - - 
Children no more from this day, but by covenant brothers and sisters!:; 
Yet,— for what reason not children ? Of such is the kingdom of heaven. . 
Here upon earth an assemblage of children, 111 heaven one Father, m> 
Ruling them all as his household, — forgiving in turn and chastising, ::; 
That is of human life a picture, as Scripture has taught us. 
Blessed are the pure before God ! Upon purity and upon virtue 
Resteth the Christian Faith ; she herself from on high is descended. |* 
Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum of the doctrine, 
Which the Divine One taught, and suffered and died on the cross for. 
O ! as ye wander this day from childhood's sacred asylum 
Downward and ever downward, and deeper in Age's chill valley, 
O ! how soon will ye come, — too soon ! — and long to turn backward 
Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun illumined, where Judgment 
Stood like a father before you, and Pardon, clad like a mother, 
Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart was forgiven. 



sever 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. 5^ 

fe was a play, and your hands grasped after the roses of heaven ' 
iventy years have I lived already ; the Father eternal 
ave me gladness and care ; but the loveliest hours of existence, 
lYben I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, I have instantly known them, 
vnown them all again j — they were my childhood's acquaintance, 
therefore take from henceforth, as guides m the paths of existence, 
Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Innocence, bride of man's 

childhood. 
nnocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world of the ble- 
Jeautiful, and in her hand a lily j on life's roaring billows 
Swings she in safety, she beedeth them not, in the ship she is sleeping. 
Calmly she gazes around m the turmoil of men ; in the d. 
\ngels descend and minister unto her; she herself knoweth 
sought of her glorious attendance-; but follows faithful and humble, 
■ullows so long as she may her friend ; O do not reject her, 
for she cometh from God and she holdeth the keys of the heavens. — 
'raycr is Innocence 1 friend; and willingly flieth incessant 
Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of 1 
Ion of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the Spirit 

ugs at his chains evermore, and Btn : upward, 

iill lie recalls with emotion his father's manifold man 

hmks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed more freshly the 
tiov. i 

hone a more beautiful sun, and he played with the winged angels. 
"hen grows the earth too narrow, t( k for heaven 

t .ongs the wanderer again ; and the Spirit's longings are wor-^i. ip ; 

Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and its tongue is entreaty. 

h! when the infinite burden of life descendeth upoi 

rushes to earth our hope, and, under the earth, in the grave-yard, — 
hen it is good to pray unto Godj tor His sorrowing children 
HTM I fe ne'er from his d heals and helps and Consoles them. 

t it is better to pray when all things an- prosperous with us, 

ray in fortunate days, for life's most beautiful Fortune 
neels down before the Eternal's throne; and, with hands inter! 

taises thankful and moved the only Giver of blessings. 
rdo ye know, ye children, one blessing that comes not from 1 h 

• hat has mankind forsooth, the poor ! that it has not received ? 

herefore, fall in the dust and pray ! The seraphs adoring 

tver with pinions six their face in the glory of Him who 

ung his masonry pendant on nought, when the world he created. 

arth declareth his might, and the firmament uttereth his glory, 
ices blossom and die, and stars fall downward from heaven, 
ownward like withered leaves j at the last stroke of midnight, mil- 
lenniums 



C.70 TRANSLATIONS. 

Lay themselves down at his feet, and he sees them, but counts them ai 

nothing. 
Who shall stand in his presence ? The wrath of the judge is terrific, 
Casting the insolent down at a glance. When he speaks in his anger 
Hillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like the roe-buck. 
Yet, — why are ye afraid, ye children ? This awful avenger, 
Ah ! is a merciful God ! God's voice was not in the earthquake, 
Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes. 
Love is the root of creation ; God's essence ; worlds without number 
Lie in His bosom like children ; He made them for this purpose only: 
Only to love and be loved again, He breathed forth his spirit 
Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it laid its 
Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven. 
Quench, O quench not that flame ! It is the breath of your being. 
Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father nor mother 
Loved you, as God has loved you ; for 'twas that you may be happy 
Gave He His only Son. When He bowed down his head in the death-hour 
Solemnized Love its triumph ; the sacrifice then was completed. 
Lo ! then was rent on a sudden the vail of the temple, dividing 
Earth and heaven apart, and the dead from their sepulchres rising, 
Whispered with pallid lips and low in the ears of each other 
Th' answer, but dreamed of before, to creation's enigma, — Atonement ! 
Depths of Love are Atonement's depths, for Love is Atonement. 
Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the merciful Father ; 
Wish what the Holy One wishes, and not from fear, but affection ; 
Fear is the virtue of slaves ; but the heart that loveth is willing ; 
Perfect was before God, and perfect is Love, and Love only. 
Lovest thou God as thou oughtest,then lovest thou likewise thy brethren} 
One is the sun in heaven, and one, only one, is Love also. 
Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp on his forehead ? 
Readest thou not in his face thine origin ? Is he not sailing 
Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is he not guided 
By the same stars that guide thee ? Why shouldst thou hate then thy 

brother ? 
Hateth he thee, forgive ! For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter 
Of the Eternal's language ; — on earth it is called Forgiveness ! 
Knowest thou Him, w r ho forgave, with the crown of thorns round His 

temples ? 
Earnestly prayed for hisfoes,for hismurderers? Say, dost thou know Him? 
Ah ! thou confessest His name, so follow likewise His example, 
Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a veil over his failings, 
Guide the erring aright ; for the good, the heavenly Shepherd 
Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to its mother. 
This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits that we know it. 



THE CHILDREN OE THE LORD'S SUPPER. 571 
Love is the create, among mori 

s hut an endless sigh ! He ! Is wailing 

puffers, and yet rejoices, and lids, 

[lope, — 

she points evernu re up to hi 
blunges her anchors peak in the depths of the grave, and beneath it 
faints a more beautiful world, a dim, U. 
Laces, In tter than we, have leaned on her w... 
raving nou r,ht els . Then pn r in I 

dim, v. I as has Ho| been tj 

.1 night -, she is Faith, she is livin 
'aim is - tion, 

ing interpn I 
1 11th is the -..-. I I 

>r she has looked upon God ; tfa 

he with chains down 1 
plendid with portals twelve in golden irai ..ding. 

"here enraptui 
'ears not the 
[herefore love and 

ven as be sun; the Right from the I 

cure in a bod 1;. 

!Qrks do fi !!<<•'. US .ill .. 

ot w li.u tiny seem< d,— d is he wh<> 

[oars tin irc« ... Death'shand 

bens the mouth "i the silent. Ye children, does Death e'er alarm 

' alii is the broth OCT is he, a;. ; 

lore austere t" b hold. With - 'hat are fading 

.'.nd departs, and rooked in the arms oj 
1 ices the ransomed child, new born, "tore the !. ;her. 

unds of its coming already I hear, — ee dimly his pinioi 
kartasthe mgjtf, but with stars strewn upon them' I fearnoJ b( foreiiim. 
at h is only release, and in mercy is mute. On his bosom 
er breathes, in its coolness, m) bneasl : and lace to face standing, 
nok I on Cod as He is, a sun unpolluted by vapours; 
00k on the light ^( the agi s I loved, the spirits majestic, 
older, better than I ; they stand by the throne all transfigured, 
fested in white, and wiih harps of gold, and are singing an anthem, 
frit in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by a; 
< 1, in like manner, ye children beloved, He one day shall gather, 
fcver forgets He the weary; — then welcome, vc loved ones, hereafter! 
tanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, forget not the promise, 
r ander from holiness onward to holiness j earth shall ve heed not j 



57a TRANS LA TIONS. 

Earth is but dust and heaven is light ; I have pledged you to heaven 
God of the Universe, hear me ! thou fountain of Love everlasting, 
Hark to the voice of thy servant ! I send up my prayer to thy heaven ! [f 
Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one spirit of all these, 
Whom thou hast given me here ! I have loved them all like a father. 
May they bear witness for me, that I taught them the way of salvation. 
Faithful, so far as I knew of thy word ; again may they know me, 
Fall on their Teacher's breast, and before thy face may I place them, 
Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and exclaiming with gladness, .1. 
Father, lo! I am here, and the children, whom thou hast given me 

Weepjng he spake in these words; and now at the beck of the old man.- 
Knee against knee they knitted a wreath round the altar's enclosure. 
Kneeling he read then the prayers of the consecration, and softly 
With him the children read ; at the close, with tremulous accents, 
Asked he the peace of heaven, a benediction upon them. 
Now should have ended his task for the day; the following Sunday 
Was for the young appointed to eat of the Lord's holy Supper. 
Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the Teacher silent and laid his 
Hand on his forehead, and cast his looks upward ; while thoughts high 

and holy 
Flew through the midst of his soul, and his eyes glanced with wonderful- 
brightness. 
" On the next Sunday, who knows! perhaps I shall rest in the grave-yard! - 
Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken untimely, 
Bow down his head to the earth; why delay I r the hour is accomplished. 
Warm is the heart ; — I will so ! for to-day grows the harvest of heaven. 
What I began accomplish I now ; for what failing therein is, 
I, the old man, will answer to God and the reverend father. 
Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new-come in heaven, 
Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of Atonement ? 
What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have told it you often. 
Of the new covenant a symbol it is, of Atonement a token, 
Stablished between earth and heaven. Man by his sins and transgressions 
Far has wandered from God, from his essence. 'Twas in the beginning 
Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, and it hangs its crown o'er the 
Fall to this day; in the Thought is the Fall; in the Heart the Atonement. 
Infinite is the Fall, the Atonement infinite likewise. 
See ! behind me, as far as the old man remembers, and forward, 
Far as Hope in her flight can reach with her wearied pinions, 
Sin and Atonement incessant go through the life-time of mortals. 
Brought forth is sin full-grown ; but Atonement sleeps in our bosoms 
Still as the cradled babe; and dreams of heaven and of angels, 
Cannot awake to sensation ; is like the tones in the harp's strings, 



THE CH1LDREX OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. Jfj 
Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the deliverer's linger. 
therefore, ye children beloved, descended the Prince of Atonement, 
LVbke the slumberer from bleep, and she stands now with eves all 

resplendent, 
plight as the vault of the sky, and battles with s rcomes her. 

)ownward to earth be came and transfigured, thence reascended, 

Not from the heart in likewise, tor there he still lives in the Spirit, 

.ove.s and atones evermore. S Atonement 

therefore with reverence receive this day her visible token, 
tokens are dead ii the things do not live. '1 he light everlasting 

nto the blind man is not, but is born of tin- eye that has vision, 
neither in bread nor m wine, but in the heart that is hallowed 
aeth forgiveness enshrined; the intention alone of amendment 

Yuits of the earth ennobles to heavenly things, ami removes all 
in and the guerdon ol sin. Only Love with his arm wide extended, 
enitence weeping and praying j the Will that is tried, and whose 
flows 

untied forth from the flames ; in a word, mankind by Atonement 

reaketh Atonement's bn id, and drinketh Atonement's wine-cup. 

ut he who Cometh up hither, unworthy, with halt- in his bosom, 
potting at men and at God, LS ' - ulv, 

ml the Redeemer's blood ■ To b msell he eateth and drinketh 
eath and doom! And from this, | . thou heavenly Father! 

}re ye ready, ye children, to eat of the bread of Atonement ; " 
hus with emotion he asked, and together answi red the children 

es ! with deep BODS interrupted. Then read he the due supplications, 

lead the Form of Communion, ami in chimed the organ and anthem j 

! Holy Lamb of God, who takest away our transgressions, 

ear us! give us thy peace! have mercy, have mercy upon us! 

h' old man, with trembling hand, and heavenly pearls on his eyelids, 
lied now the ehaheeand paten, and dealt round the mystical symbols. 

! then seemed it to me, as it C,nA, with the broad eye of mid-day, 
learer looked in at the windows, and all the trees in the ehurehyard 

Wed down their summits of green, and the grass on the graves "gan to 
! shiver. 

tilt in the children (I noted it well ; I knew it) there ran a 
remor of holy rapture along through their icy-cold members. 

Ckedlikean altar before them, there stood the green earth, and aboveit 
eaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen ; they saw there 
;'.diant in glory tin* Father, and on his right hand the Redeemer, 
nder them hear they the clang ofharpstrings, and angels from gold clouds 
ickon to them like brothers, and fan with their pinions of purple, 
losed was the Teacher's task, and with heaven in their hearts and their 
faces, 



5 74 TRANSLA tlONS. 

Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping full sorely, 
Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of them pressed he 
Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his hands lull of blessings, 
Now qi\ the holy breast, and now on the innocent tresses. 



THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR. 



FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN. 



Forms of saints and kings are standing 
The cathedral door above ; 

Yet I saw but one among them 
Who hath soothed my soul with 
love. 

In his mantle, — wound about him, 
As their robes the sowers wind, — 

Bore he swallows and their fledglings, 
Flowers and weeds of every kind. 



And so stands he calm and childlike ! 

High in wind and tempest wild ; 
O, were I like him exalted, 

I would be like him, a child ! 

And my songs, green leaves and 
blossoms, 

To the doors of heaven would bear. 
Calling, even in storm and tempest- j 

Round me still these birds of air. 



THE HEMLOCK-TREE. 



FROM THE GERMAN. 

O hemlock-tree ! O hemlock-tree ! how faithful are thy branches 

Green not alone in summer time, 

But in the winter's frost and rime ! 
O hemlock-tree ! O hemlock-tree ! how faithful are thy branches ! 

O maiden fair ! O maiden fair ! how faithless is thy bosom ! 

To love me iri prosperity, 

And leave me in adversity ! 
O maiden fair ! O maiden fair ! how faithless is thy bosom ! 

The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak'st for thine example ! 

So long as summer laughs she sings, 

But in the autumn spreads her wings ! 
The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak'st for thine ex. 



/IE OF THAR. 111'. 5)5 

[The meadow brook, the meadow brook is mirror of thy falsehood! 

Jl flows so long as falls the ram, 

In drought its S| gain. 

[The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood ! 



ANNIE OF THARAW. 

Annie of Tbara^i , my true I 

She is my I J 

Annie ofTharaw, her heart otjee again 
To me has surrendered in joy and in pain. 

Annie of Tharaw, my I 
Thou, l 

Then come the wild weather, now, 

We will stand by each ether, however it blow. 

Oppressiqn, and sick;. and pain, 

shall be to our true love as links to the chain. 

As the palm-tree 

The more the had beats, and the more the rains fall, — ■ 

So love in our hear;- shall grow m 

Through crosses, throu . through manifoU wrong. 

Shouhlst thou D( ; me to wander .1! 

In a desolate land where the sun is scarce known, — 

Through forests I'll follow, and where the 1 
Through ice and through iron, through arm... 

Annie ofTharaw, my light and m 

The threads of our two liw .1 in one. 

Whate'er I have bidden thee thou hast obeyed, 
Whatever forbidden thou hast not gainsaid. 

How in the turmoil of life can love stand, 

Where there. |s not one heart, and one mouth, and one hand? 



TRANSLATIONS. 
Some seek for dissension, and trouble, and strife j 
Like a dog and a cat live such man and wife. 

Annie of Tharaw, such is not our Jove; 

Thou art my lambkin, my chick, and my dove. 

Whate'er my desire is, in thine may be seen $ 

I am king of the household, and thou art its queen. 

It is this, O my Annie, my heart's sweetest rest, 
That makes of us twain but one soul in one breast. 

This turns to a heaven the hut where we dwell 5 
While wrangling soon changes a home to a hell. 



THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL. 



FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN. 



On the cross the dying Saviour 
Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm, 

Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling 
In his pierced and bleeding palm. 

And by all the world forsaken, 
Sees he how with zealous care 

At the ruthless nail of iron 
A little bird is striving there. 

Stained with blood and never tiring, 
With its beak it doth not cease, 



From the cross 'twould free the Saviour, 
Its Creator's Son release. 

And the Saviour speaks in mildness ; 

" Blest be thou of all the good ! 
Bear, as token of this moment, 

Marks of blood and holy rood !" 

And that bird is called the crossbill ; | 
Covered all with blood so clear. 

In the groves of pine it singeth 
Songs, like legends, strange to hear. 



- 



POETIC APHORISMS. 

FROM THE SINNGEDICHTE OF FR1EDRICH VON LOGAU." 
SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 

MONEY. 

Whereunto is money good ? 
Who has it not wants hardihood, 
Who has it has much trouble and care, 
vVho once has had it has despair. 



POETIC APHORISMS. 



THE BEST MEDICINES. 

Joy and Temperance and Repose 
Slam the door on the doctor's nose. 



Man-like is it to fall into sin, 
Fiend-like is it to dwell therein, 
Christ-like is it for 
God-like is it all sin to 1 



law or LIIE. 

Live I 

To my Lord heartily, 

nee faithfully, 
To my Neighbour honestly, 
Die 1. so d 



POVERTY AM) BLIND! 



A blind man is a poor man, and blind a poor man 
For the former Beeth no man, and the latter no man 



Lutheran, Popish, Calvinistic, all these creeds and three 

fcxtant are j but still the doul I may be. 

tuk BBSTLE81 ill 

\ millstone and the human heart, are dl nndj 

r they have nothing else to grind, they must themselves be ground. 

CHRIST! '• 

Whilom Love was like a tin-, and warmth and comfort it bespoke ; 
jut, alas ! it is now quenched, and only bites us, like the smoke-. 

ART AND TACT. 

Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined; 
Often in a wooden house a golden room we find. 

RETRIBUTION. 

Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small ; 
■hough with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all. 



When by night the frogs are croaking, kindle but a torch's fire, 
Ha ! how soon they all are silent ! Thus Truth silences the liar. 



5/8 



TRANSLA TI0X3 



If perhaps these rhymes of mine should sound not well in strangers' ears 
They have only to bethink them that it happens so with theirs ; 
For so long as words, like mortals, call a fatherland their own, 
They will be most highly valued where they are best and longest known 



THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS. 



FROM THE GERMAN" OF HEIN'RICH HEINE. 



The sea hath its pearls, 
The heaven hath its stars ; 

But my heart, my heart, 
My heart hath its love. 



Great are the sea and the heaven : 
Yet greater is my heart, 



And fairer than pearls and stars 
Flashes and beams my love. 

Thou little, youthful maiden, 
Come unto my great heart ; 

My heart, and the sea, and the 
heaven, 
Are melting away with love ! 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. 



FROM THE GASCON' OF JASMIN". 



Only the Lowland tongue of Scodand might 
Rehearse this little tragedy aright : 
Let me attempt it with an English quill; 
And take, O Reader, for the deed the will. 



At the foot of the mountain height 
Where is perched Castel-Cuille, 

When the apple, the plum, and the almond-tree, 
In the plain below were growing white, 
This is the song one might perceive 

On a Wednesday morn of Saint Joseph's Eve : 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. 579 

' The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, 
;r a bride shall leave her home ! 
Should blossom and bloom with garland 
.!• a bride shall pas 

.'tending, 
ied from the clouds descending ; 
When lo ! a merry company 
lea'n as tie 1 
Each one with her attendant s\i 
Came to the cliif, all singing t lit- same -train; 
bling there, so near unto tl 

For tiieir delight ami our encouragement. 
ther blend 

Tiny wind aslant 
Thrdi alleys' 

<)t \ 

With merry Sallies* 

Singing their chant. 

'The roads should blossom, t' old bloom, 

So lair a bride shall leave her home! 
Should blossom and bl< 
So lair a bride shall pass to-day !" 

I Baptiste, and his affianced maiden, 
With garlands lor the bridal laden ! 

The sky was blue; without one cloud of gloom, 

The sun of March was -Inning brightly, 
And to the air the freshening wind gave lightly 

Its breathings of perfume. 

When one beholds the dusky hedges blossom, 
A rustic bridal, ah! how sweet it (s ! 

'1'.' sounds of joyous ml \<> 
That touch with the trembling bosom, 

A band of maidens 
Gaily frolicking, 



580 TRANS LA TIONS. 

A band of youngsters 
Wildly rolicking ! 
Kissing, 
Caressing, 
With ringers pressing, 

Till in the veriest 
Madness of mirth, as they dance, 
They retreat and advance, 

Trying whose laugh shall be loudest and merriest 
While the bride, with roguish eyes, 
Sporting with them, now escapes and cries : 
" Those who catch me 
Married verily 
This year shall be i" 

And all pursue with eager haste, 
And all attain what they pursue, 
And touch her pretty apron fresh and new, 
And the linen kirtle round her waist. 

Meanwhile, whence comes it that among 

These youthful maidens fresh and fair, 

So joyous, with such laughing air, 

Baptiste stands sighing, with silent tongue r 

And yet the bride is fair and young ! 
Is it Saint Joseph would say to us all, 
That love, o'er-hasty, precedeth a fall ? 

O, no ! for a maiden frail, I trow, 

Never bore so lofty a brow ! 
What lovers ! they give not a single caress ! • 
To see them so careless and cold to-day, 

These are grand people, one would say. 
What ails Baptiste ? what grief doth him oppress ? 

It is, that, half way up the hill, 

In yon cottage, by whose walls 

Stand the cart-house and the stalls, 

Dwelleth the blind orphan still, 

Daughter of a veteran old ; 

And you must know, one year ago, 

That Margaret, the young and tender, 

Was the village pride and splendour, 

And Baptiste, her lover bold. 

Love, the deceiver, them ensnared; 

For them the altar was prepared -, 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. 581 

But alas ! the Bummer's blight, 
The dread disease that dob 
The pestilence that walks by night, 
Took the young bride's light away. 

All at the father' 

Their peat le, but not their ! gedj 

tried at hom< the lover tied : 

Returned but three short 1 

The golden chain they round him thi 

He is enticed, and onward led 

To many Angela, and yt I 
Is thinking evei iret. 

Then suddenly 1 :ied, 

" Anna, Theresa, .Man, Kate! 
Here comes the cripple Jane '." And by a fountain's side 
oman, bent and grey with j 

I nder the mulberr. 

And all towards her run. as fleet 

As had th< J « ings upon their 1 

It is that Jane, the cripple Jane, 
Is a soothsayer, wary and kind. 
She telleth fortunes, and none complain. 
She promises one a village swain, 
Another a happy wedding-day, 
And the bride a lovely boy straightway. 
All comes to pass as she .. 
She never deceives, .she never errs. 

Rut for this once the village seer 
\W ars a countenance sev( 
And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white 
I Ier two ew 3 flash like cannons bright 
Aimed at the bridegroom in waistcoat blue, 
Who, like a statue, stands in view; 
Changing colour, as well he might, 
When the beldame wrinkled and grey 
Takes the young bride by the hand, 
And, with the tip of her reedy wand, 
Making the sign of the cross, doth say :-— 
"Thoughtless Angela, beware! 



582 TRANS LA TIONS. 

Lest, when thou weddest this false bridegroom, 
Thou diggest for thyself a tomb !" 

And she was silent 3 and the maidens fair 
Saw from each eye escape a swollen tear 5 
But on a little streamlet silver-clear, 

What are two drops of turbid rain ? 
Saddened a moment, the bridal train 
Resumed the dance and song again 3 
The bridegroom only was pale with fear 3 — 
And down green alleys 
Of verdurous valleys, 
With merry sallies, 
They sang the refrain : — ■ 

"The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, 
So fair a bride shall leave her home ! 
Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, 
So fair a bride shall pass to-day!" 

II. 

And by suffering worn and weary, 
But beautiful as some fair angel yet, 
Thus lamented Margaret, 
In her cottage lone and dreary : — 

" He has arrived ! arrived at last ! 
Yet Jane has named him not these three days past 3 

Arrived ! yet keeps aloof so far ! 
And knows that of my night he is the star ! 
Knows that long months I wait alone, benighted, 
And count the moments since he went away ! 
Come ! keep the promise of that happier day, 
That I may keep the faith to thee I plighted ! 
What joy have I without thee - what delight > 
Grief wastes my life, and makes it misery ; 
Day for the others ever, but for me 

For ever night ! for ever night ! 
When he is gone 'tis dark ! my soul is sad ! 
I suffer ! O my God ! come, make me glad. 
When he is near, no thoughts of day intrude ; 
Day has blue heavens, but Baptiste has blue eyes ! 
Within them shines for me a heaven of love, 
A heaven all happiness, like that above. 



THE DLIXD GIRL OF CASTEL-CL'ILLE. 583 

No more of grief ! no more of | 
Earth I forget, — and heaven, and all d 
When seated by n hand he pn 

Ij tit w hen alon . all ! 

Where i> Baj oof \\ ben I call ! 

A brain h o\ und, 

I Q< 1 ... around ! 
In pit . 

True love, they say, in grief doth mure abound.' 
What then — when one i> I . 

" Who If 
Ah! woe is me! then bear me to | 

< > ( i its within me waken ! 

I he will return ! 1 do but 1 
i le will return ! I need pot 

He • • q 

II .' ; : will ; 
Is u is ill ! 
Perhaps bis heart, in ti. 

Preparj -. n>r im 

I 
And that he !" 

And poor, c on 
with oiitstrejcbt 
I her brotbei . — 

"An la the bride I 

Tell iiu , m\ sister, w | 

..!! are there hut you a. 

" Angela married ! an : 

To tell lur set Bel unto me ! 

( ). speak ! who mav the bi be ! 

'* My >ister, ti 3 Baptiste, thy mend!" 

A mil' ids upon her chj 

An v\ hand, a 

Des her brother speaks, 

Upon her heart, .hat has ceased to beat, 
its life and heat. 



TRANSLATIONS. 

She stands beside the boy, now sore distressed, 
A wax Madonna as a peasant dressed. 

At length, the bridal song again 
Brings her back to her sorrow and pain. 

" Hark ! the joyous airs are ringing I 

Sister, dost thou hear them singing r 

How merrily they laugh and jest ! 

"Would we were bidden with the rest ! 

I would don my hose of homespun grey ; 

And my doublet of linen striped and gay ; 

Perhaps they will come ; for they do not wed 

Till to-morrow at seven o'clock, it is said !" 

" I know it!" answered Margaret ; 
Whom the vision, with aspect black as jet, 

Mastered again ; and its hand of ice 
Held her heart crushed, as in a vice ! 

"Paul, be not sad ! Tis a holiday; 

To-morrow put on thy doublet gay ! 

But leave me now for a while alone." 

Away, with a hop and a jump, went Paul, 

And, as he whistled along the hall, 

Entered Jane, the crippled crone. 

" Holy Virgin ! what dreadful heat ! 

I am faint, and wear}', and out of breath ! 

But thou art cold, — art chill as death ; 

My little friend ! what ails thee, sweet?" 
" Nothing ! I heard them singing home the h i 

And, as I listened to the song, 

I thought my turn would come ere long, 

Thou knowest it is ar Whitsuntide. 

Thy cards forsooth can never lie, 

To me such joy they prophecy, 

Thy skill shall be vaunted far and wide 

When they behold him at my side. 

And poor Baptiste, what sayest thou? 
It must seem long to him; — methinks I see him now !" 

Jane, shuddering, her hand doth press : 

"Thy love I cannot all approve: 
We most not trust too much to happine 
Go, pray to God, that thou mayst love him less ! " 

''• The more I pray, the more I love ! 



THE BUND GIRL GF CASTE L-C IT LLE> '^ 

Jr is no sin, for God is on mv side !" 
It was enough j and Jane do mure replied. 

Now to all hope her heari is barred and cold ; 
But to deceive the beldame old 

she takes a sweet, < ontent I 

Speaks of foul weathi 

At every word the maiden smil 
Thus the begmler she begu 
So that, departing at the evenin 

She says, " She may be saved! she nothing knows!" 

Poor Jane, the running son 

\ .. ouldst, thon art no prophet 

I'his morning, in the fulness of thy heart, 
Thou wast so, tar beyond thine art! 

111. 

Now rings the bell, nine tin. 

And the white daybreak, stealing up thl 

Sees m two e<>u.<L'i > tun n tag, 

1 low differently ! 

Queen of a day, l»y Batterers 

The one puts on her cn>-«s and eiown, 
Dei U with a hu.e bouquet her I 

And flaunting, fl aid d<m n, 

Looks at herself, and cann< I 

The other, blind, within her little room, 

1 [as neither crown nor flower'8 perfume j 

But in their stead tor something gropes apart 

That in a drawer's recess doth lie. 
And, Heath her boddice ot" bright scarlet dye, 
Convulsive clasps it to her heart. 

The one. fantastic, light as air, 

'Mid ' in g» 

And joyous singing, 
Forgets to say her morning prayer! 

The other, with cold drops upon her brow, 

Joins her two hands, and kneels upon the rioor, 

And whispers, as her brother opes the door, 
" O God ! forgive me now !" 



06 TRANSLATIONS, 

And then the orphan, young and blind. 
Conducted by her brother's hand, 
Towards the church, through paths unscanned, 
"With tranquil air, her way doth wind. 

Odours of laurel, making her faint and pale, 

Round her at times exhale, 
And in the sky as yet no sunny ray, 

But brumal vapours grey. 

Near that castle, fair to see, 
Crowded with sculptures old, in every part, 

Marvels of nature and of art, 

And proud of its name of high degree, 

A little chapel, almost bare 

At the base of the rock, is builded there 5 

All glorious that it lifts aloof, 

Above each jealous cottage roof, 
Its sacred summit, swept by autumn gales, 

And its blackened steeple high in air, 

Round which the osprey screams and sails. 

" Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by !" 
Thus Margaret said. " Where are we ? we ascend J" 

" Yes ; seest thou not our journey's end ? 
Hearest not the osprey from the belfry cry ? 
The hideous bird, that brings ill luck, we know ! 
Dost thou remember when our father said. 

The night we watched beside his bed, 

' O daughter, I am weak and low 5 
Take care of Paul ; I feel that I am dying!' 
And thou, and he, and I, all fell to crying ? 
Then on the roof the osprey screamed aloud ; 
And here they brought our father in his shroud. 
There is his grave ; there stands the cross we set j 
Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Margaret ? — 

Come in ! The bride will be here soon : 
Thou tremblest ! O my God ! thou art going to swoon !" 
She could no more, — the blind girl, weak and weary ! 
A voice seemed crying from that grave so dreary, 
" What wouldst thou do, my daughter?" — and she started} 

And quick recoiled, aghast, faint-hearted ; 
But Paul, impatient, urges evermore 

Her steps towards the open door 3 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. 

And when, beneath her feet, the unhappy maid 
Crushes the laurel near the home immortal, 
And with her he I talk-, on again, 

Touchy the crown hf filigrane 
Suspended from the low-arched portal, 
more retrained, no more air aid, 

Ami in the ancienl chapel's sombre night 

They both are lost to .sight. 

At length the bell, 
With booming sound, 

Bunding round, 
Its hymen r rock and down the dell. 

Jt :- broad day, with sunshine and with !.. 
And yet the giu stfl delay not l< 

the bridal train. 
And With it br : ifOHg. 

In sooth, deceil maketn no mortal 

for 1" ' n his triumphanl 

Mute as at] idiot. 

Thinks only of the beldam-. warning. 

And Angela thinks of her ere-, I wis; 

To be- a bride IS all ! The pretty 1 

Feels her heart swell to hear all round her whisper, 

" How beautiful ! how beautiful sh 

But she must calm that giddy head, 
1 i • already the Ma- is said ; 
At the holy table stands the pi 
The wedding ring is b! ptiste receives it ; 

hie OH the finger of the bride he leaves it, 

He must pronounce one word at ; 
Tis spoken ; and sudd' roorasraan's side 

" Tis he!" a well-known voice has cried. 
And while the wed its all hold their breath, 

Opes 'he confessional, and the blind girl. 
" Baptiste," she said, •• since thou hast wished my death, 
As hole water be my blood for th. 

And calmly in the air a knife suspended ! 
Doubtless her guardian r attended, 

For anguish did its work so 



588 TRANSLATIONS, 

That, ere the fatal stroke descended, 
Lifeless she fell ! 

At eve, instead of bridal verse, 
The De Profundis filled the air j 
Decked with flowers a single hearse 
To the churchyard forth they bear ; 
Village girls in robes of snow 
Follow, weeping as they go ; 
Nowhere was a smile that day, 
No, ah no ! for each one seemed to say : — 

te The roads shall mourn and be veiled in gloom, 
So fair a corpse shall leave its home ! 
Should mourn and should weep, ah, well-away ! 
So fair a corpse shall pass to-day !" 

Jasmin', the author of this beautiful poem, is to the South of France what Burns 
to the South of Scotland, — the representative of the heart of the people, — one of those 
happy bards who are born with their mouths full of birds (la bouco plena d' aouzelous). 
He has written his own biography in a poetic form, and the simple narrative of his 
poverty, his struggles and his triumphs, is very touching. He still lives at Agen, on 
the Garonne; and long may he live there to delight his native land with native songs 

Those who may feel interested in something about "Jasmin, Coiffeur" — for such is 
his calling — will find a description of his person and mode of life in the note to this 
page, taken from the graphic pages of Beam and the Pyrenees (vol. i. p. 869, et seq.), 
by Louisa Stuart Costello, whose charming pen has done so much to illustrate the 
French provinces and their literature. 



THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 

Of Edenhall, the youthful lord 

Bids sound the festal trumpet's call; 

He rises at the banquet board, 

And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all, 

" Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall !" 

The butler hears the words with pain, 
The house's oldest seneschal 
Takes slow from its silken cloth again 
The drinking glass of crystal tall; 
.They call it the Luck of Edenhall. 



THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. .589 

Then said the lord: "This glass to praise, 
Fill with red wine from Portugal!" 
The grey-beard with trembling hand obeys; 
A purple light shines over all, 
It beams from the Luek or' Edenhall. 

Then speaks the lord, and waws it light, 
"This glass of flashing crystal tall 
Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite; 
She wrote in it : (fthii glass doth fall, 
Farewell then, O Luck ofEdenhall! 

w *Twas right .1 goblet the Pate should be 

Of the joyous race of Kdenhall ! 

Deep draughts drink we 1 \y, 

And willingly ring, with merry call, 

Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!'' 

First rings it deep, and full, and mild, 
Like to the sound of .1 nig I 
Then like the roar of a torrent wild; 
Then mutters al last like the thunder's fall, 
The glorious Luek of Edenhall. 

u For its keeper takes a rai e of might, 

The fragile gobl< ! tall ; 

It has lasted Longer than is right; 
Kling! klang! with a harder blow than all 
Will I try the Luck of Edenhall !" 

As the goblet ringing flies apart. 
Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall; 
And through the rift, the wild flames start; 
The guests in dust are scattered all, 

With the breaking Luek ofEdenhall! 

In storms the foe, with fire and sword; 
He in the night had scaled the wall, 

Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, 
But holds in his hand the crystal tall, 
The shattered Luck of Edenhall. 

On the morrow the butler gropes alone, 
The grey-beard in the desert hall, 



59° 



IRAN^LATIONS, 
He seeks his lord's burnt skeleton. 
He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall 
The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. 

'The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside, 
Down must the stately columns fall; 
Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride ; 
In atoms shall fall this earthly ball 
One day like the Luck of Edenhall!" 



[The tradition upon which this ballad is founded, and the "shards of the Luck of 
Edenhall," still exist in England. The goblet is in the possession of Sir Christophei 
Musgrave, Bart., of Eden Hall, Cumberland; and is not so entirely shattered as the 
ballad leaves it.] 



THE ELECTED KNIGHT. 



FROM THE DANISH. 



Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain, 
Full seven miles broad and seven 
miles wide, 
But never, ah never can meet with the 
man 
A tilt with him dare ride. 

He saw under the hill-side 
A Knight full well equipped; 

His steed was black, his helm was barred ; 
He was riding at full speed. 

He wore upon his spurs 
Twelve little golden birds; 

Anon he spurred his steed with a clang, 
And there sat all the birds and sang. 

He wore upon his mail 

Twelve little golden wheels ; 

Anon in eddies the wild wind blew, 
And round and round the wheels 
they flew. 



He wore before his breast 

A lance that was poised in rest; 

And it was sharper than diamond-stone, 
It made Sir Oluf 's heart to groan. 

He wore upon his helm 

A wreath of ruddy gold ; 
And that gave him the Maidens Three 

The youngest was fair to behold. 

Sir Oluf questioned the knight eftsoo: 
If he were come from heaven down 

" Art thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he 
" So will I yield me unto thee." 

11 1 am not Christ the Great, 
Thou shalt not yield thee yet; 

I am an Unknown Knight, 

Three modest Maidens have me be 
dight." 



THE ELECTED k'X/GHT. 



Art thou a Knight elected, 

And have three Maidens thee be- 
dight; 

» shalt thou ride a tilt thi - 

For all the Maidens' honour!" 
Le first tilt they together i 

They put their steeds to the test ; 

le second tilt they together 

They proved their manhood best; 



.59 l 



The third tilt they together rode, 
Neither of them would yield; 

The fourth tilt they together rode, 
They both fell on the field. 

Now lie the lord^ upon the plain, 
And their blood runs until death; 
in the high I 
:rows till death. 



This strange an I me : i\ mj stical ballad is from 1 

I 
North, and to the institution of Knight-errantry. The t 
Charity. '1 1 

.:i the truncation.] 






■ ■ 



59^ 



TRANSLATIONS, 
DIVINA COMMEDIA. 



Oft have I seen at some cathedral door 
A labourer, pausing in the dust and heat, 
Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet 
Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor 
Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er ; 
Far off the noises of the world retreat j 
The loud vociferations of the street 
Become an undistinguishable roar. 
So, as I enter here from day to day, 
And leave my burden at this minster gate, 
Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray. 
The tumult of the time disconsolate 
To inarticulate murmurs dies away, 
While the eternal ages watch and wait. 



How strange the sculptures that adorn these towers ! 
This crowd of statues, in whose folded sleeves 
Birds build their nests ; while canopied with leaves 
Parvis and portal bloom like trellised bowers, 
And the vast minster seems a cross of flowers ! 
But fiends and dragons on the gargoyled eaves 
Watch the dead Christ between the living thieves, 
And, underneath, the traitor Judas lowers ! 
Ah ! from what agonies of heart and brain, 
What exultations trampling on despair, 
What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong, 
What passionate outcry of a soul in pain, 
Uprose this poem of the earth and air, 
This mediaeval miracle of song ! 



I enter, and I see thee in the gloom 

Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine ! 

And strive to make my steps keep pace with thine. 

The air is filled with some unknown perfume ; 

The congregation of the dead make room 

For thee to pass ; the votive tapers shine ; 

Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's groves of pine 

The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb. 



D1VINA COMMEDIA. S03 

From the confessionals I heai 

Rehearsals of forgotten tragi 

And lamentations from the crypts below ; 

And then a voice celestial, that begins 

With the pathetic word-, M Although your sins 

As scarlet be," and end the snow." 



I lift mine eyes, and all the wind 
With forms of saints and holy men who died, 
martyred and nei ified ; 

And the gr | lays 

Christ's Triumph, and the angelic round 

Wuh splendour upon splendour multiplied ; 

And Beatrice again at Dante 

. >re rebukes, DUl 
And then the organ sounds, and unseen cfa 

Sing t: 

And benedictions of U 

And the melodious bells ami ng the sj 

O'er all the house-tops and through heaven above 

Proclaim the elevation of the 11 



( ) star of morning and of lii 

O bringer of the light, whose -plendour shines 

Above the darkness of the Apennines, 

Forerunner of the d.iy thai 

The voi< es of the c ity an 1 1 1 

The voices of the mountains and the pi 

Repeat thy song, till the familiar lines 

Are footpaths tor the thought of Italy ! 

Thy fame is blown abroad from all the heights, 

Through all the nations and a sound is heard, 

As I fa mighty wind, and men devout, 

Strange -s of Rome, and the new | 

In theii own language hear thy wondrous word. 

And many are amazed and many doubt. 



THREE CANTOS OF DANTE'S PARADISO. 



CANTO XXIII. 

Dante is with Beatrice in the eighth circle, that of the fixed stars. She is gazing 
upwards, watching tor the descent of the Triumph of Christ. 

Even as a bird, 'mid the beloved leaves, 
Quiet upon the nest of her sweet brood 
Throughout the night, that hideth all things from us 

Who, that she may behold their longed-for looks 
And find the nourishment wherewith to feed theim 
In which, to her, grave labours grateful are, 

Anticipates the time on open spray 

And with an ardent longing waits the sun, 
Gazing intent, as soon as breaks the dawn : 

Even thus my Lady standing was, erect 

And vigilant, turned round towards the zone 
Underneath which the sun displays least haste j* 

So that beholding her distraught and eager, 
Such I became as he is, who desiring 
For something yearns, and hoping is appeased. 

But brief the space from one When to the other ; 
From my awaiting, say I, to the seeing 
The welkin grow resplendent more and more= 

And Beatrice exclaimed : "Behold the hosts 
Of the triumphant Christ, and all the fruit 
Harvested by the rolling of these spheres !"f 

It seemed to me her face was all on flame ; 
And eyes she had so full of ecstacy 
That I must needs pass on without describing. 

As when in nights serene of the full moon 
Smiles Trivia among the nymphs eternal 

* Under the meridian, or at noon, the shadows being shorter, move slower, an<4 
therefore the sun seems less in haste. 

f By the beneficent influences of the stars. 



L 

Who paint the heaven through all its hollow cope, 

Saw I, above the i.-yv iads of limps, 

A sun that .1 of them enkindled, 

E'en as our own '• es the supernal stars.* 

And through the] rent shone 

The lucenl j clear 

Into my sight, that I could not sustain it. 

Beau i ad dear ! 
She said | 

A virtue is which, no 
There are the wisdom and omnipotj : 

That oped the thoroughfares 'twixt h< arth« 

For v. hii h th re ersl bad be< □ 
Afl tire hum out a el<jud itself d 

Dilating so it finds hot ro >m therein, 
And d.»v. is, a 5 itnst i-t i. iture, falls to earth, 
So did my mind among thos 

elf, 
And what became of it cannot remember. 
t" ( )pen tl k at what I am : 

Thou bail beheld such thing-, th i 
Hast thou become to * lerate mj smile. 

1 was as one who still retains the feeling 
( )t' a Iream, and v. ho i 

In vain i" bring it back into bis mind, 
When I this imitation heard, deserving 

( >t' so mill ii gratitude, il never i 

Out of the book that chronicles the \ 
It at this moment sounded all the tongues 

That Polyhymnia and her sisters made 

Most lubrical with their delicious milk, 
To aid me, to a thousandth of the truth 

It would i inging the holy si 

And how the holy aspect it illumined. 

And therefore, represent!!: 

The sacred poem must perforce leap over, 
Even as a man who finds his way cut off. 

Ihit whoso thmketh of the ponderous theme, 

The old belief that the I by the light of the sun. S 

" Hither, as to their fountain, oth.: 
Repair, and in their golden urns draw light." 

Beatrice speaks. 



$g6 TRANSLA TlONS. 

And of the mortal shoulder that sustains it, 
Should blame it not, if under this it trembles. 

It is no passage for a little boat 

This which goes cleaving the audacious prow, 
Nor for a pilot who would spare himself. 

" Why does my face so much enamour thee, 
That to the garden fair thou turnest not, 
Which under the rays of Christ is blossoming ? 

There is the rose* in which the Word Divine 
Became incarnate ; there the lilies are 
By whose perfume the good way was selected." 

Thus Beatrice ; and I, who to her counsels 
Was wholly ready, once again betook me 
Unto the battle of the feeble brows.f 

As in a sunbeam, that unbroken passes 

Through fractured cloud, ere now a meadow of flowers 
Mine eyes with shadow covered have beheld, 

So I beheld the multitudinous splendours 
Refulgent from above with burning rays, 
Beholding not the source of the effulgence. 

O thou benignant power that so imprint'st them ! 
Thou didst exalt thyselfj: to give more scope 
There to the eyes, that were not strong enough. 

The name of that fair flower I e'er invoke 
Morning and evening utterly enthralled 
My soul to gaze upon the greater fire.§ 

And when in both mine eyes depicted were 
The glory and greatness of the living star 
Which conquers there, as here below it conquered, 

Athwart the heavens descended a bright sheen || 
Formed in a circle like a coronal, 
And cinctured it, and whirled itself about it. 

Whatever melody most sweetly soundeth 
On earth, and to itself most draws the soul, 
Would seem a cloud that, rent asunder, thunders, 

* The rose is the Virgin Mary, Rosa Mundi, Rosa mystica / the lilies are the 
Apostles and other saints. 

f The struggle between his eyes and the light. 

% Christ reascends, that Dante's dazzled eves, too feeble to bear the light of His 
presence, may behold the splendours around him. 

§ The greater fire is the Virgin Mary, greater than any of those remaining. She 
i? -:he living star, surpassing in brightness all other saints in heaven, as she did here on 
earth ; Stella Maris, Stella Matutina. 

,'! The Angel Gabriel, or Angelic Love. 



DANTE'S PARADISO. 597 

Compared unto the sounding of that lyre 

Wherewith was crowned the sapphire beautiful. 

Which gives the dearest heaven its sapphire hue.* 
" I am Angelic Love, that circle round 

The joy sublime which breathes from out the bosom 

That was the hostelry 1 t 1 u 1 ) 
And I shall circle, Lady of Heaven, while 

Thou followest thy Son, and mak'st diviner 

The sphere supreme, because thou enterest it." 

Thus did the cin ulated melody 

Seal itself up ; and all the other lights 
Were making resonant the name ot M 

JThe regal mantle of the volumes all 

Of that world, which most fervid is and living 
With breath of God and with Mis works and ways, 

Extended over in its inner curve, 

So very distant, that its outward show, 
There where I was, not yet appeared to me. 

Then tore mine eyes did not possess the power 
Of following the incoronated flame, 
\\'h;eh had ascended near to its own seed.$ 

And as a little child, that towards in mother 
Extends its arms, when it the milk has taken, 
Through impulse kindled into outward flame, 

Each of those gleams of light did upward stretch 
So with its summit, that the deep affection 

They had for Mary was revealed to me. 
Thereafter they remained there in my 

\\Regina Cceli singing with such sweet] 

That ne'er from me has the delight departed. 
Oh, what exuberance is garnered up 

In those resplendent coffers, which had been 

For sowing here below good husbandmen! 
There they enjoy and live upon the treasure 

^fWhich was acquired while weeping in the exile 

Of Babylon, wherein the gold was left. 

f Sapphire is the colour in which the old painters arrayed the Virgin. 
r Christ, the Desire of the nations. 

". The regal mantle of all the \olumes, or rolling orbs, of the world is the crystalline 
ven, or Primum Mnhle, which infolds all the others like a mantle. 
I The Virgin ascends to her Son. 
I Euster hymn to the Virgin. 

I Caring not for gold in the Babylonian exile of this life, they laid up treasures in 
other. .. 



598 TRANSLA TIONS. 

There triumpheth beneath the exalted Son 
Of God and Mary, in his victory, 
Both with the ancient council and the new, 
He who doth keep the keys of such a story.* 



CANTO XXIV. 

"O company elect to the Great Supper 
Of the Lamb glorified, who feedeth you, 
So that for ever full is your desire, 

If by the grace of God this man foretastes 
Of whatsoever falleth from your table, 
Or ever death prescribes to him the time, 

Direct your mind to his immense desire,f 
And him somewhat bedew ; ye drinking are 
For ever from the fount % whence comes his thought.' 

Thus Beatrice ; and those enraptured spirits 

Made themselves spheres around their steadfast poles, 
Flaming intensely in the guise of comets. 

And as the wheels in works of horologes 
Revolve so that the first to the beholder 
Motionless seems, and the last one to fly, 

So in like manner did those carols, dancing§ 
In different measure, by their affluence 
Make me esteem them either swift or slow. 

From that one which I noted of most beauty 
Beheld I issue forth a fire so happy 
That none it left there of a greater splendour ; 

1 1 And about Beatrice three several times 
It whirled itself with so divine a song, 
My fantasy repeats it not to me ; 

Therefore the pen skips, and I write it not, 
Since our imagination for such folds, 



* St. Peter, keeper of the keys, with the holy men of the Old and New Testame 
f Hunger and thirst after things divine. + The Grace of God. 

§ The carol was a dance as well as a song. 

|| St. Peter thrice encircles Beatrice, as the Angel Gabriel did the Virgin Mary in 
preceding canto. 



DANTE'S PA RAD/SO. 599 

Much more our speech, is of a tint too glaring.* 
"f(J holy Bister mine, who us implorest 

With such devotion, by thine ardent love 

Thou dost unbind me from that beautiful Spi 
Thus, having stopped, the beatific tire 

Unto my Lady did direct its breath, 

Which spake in fashion as 1 here haw 
And she: " O light eterne of the great man 

To whom our Lord delivered up the I 

He carried down ot thi<> imraculou-, ; 

'i imine on points light . 

meth thee, about the Faith 
By means oJ which thou <>a the .11:, 

If he lov< 8 well, and hopes Well, and bi \ 

Is hid not from thee; tor thou bast th 
i erything beholds itsell 

But since this h 08 

By means ot the tni( 

thereof.'* 
alaureate arms himself, 
the master d.nh 

To argue it ami not to terminate it, 

So I did arm myself with evei 

While she was speaking, th 

such a questioner and such profess 

1 Christian ; manifest thyself; 
. what is Faith?" whereat I raised my I 

Unto thai light from which this was breathed : 

Mimed I round to Beatrice, and - 

Prompt signals made to me thai i should pour 
The water forth from my interna) fountain. 
" May grace, that suffers me to make confession/' 

. "• 10 the great Centurion|| 
Cause my conceptions all to be explicit !" 
And I continued : " As the truthful pen, 
r, of thy dear brother wrote of it, 
Who put with thee Rome into the good way, 
Faith is the substance of the things we hope tor, 
And evidence of those that are not seen ; 



* Ton glaring for painting such delicate draperies of song. 

f St. Pteter 6] eaks to Beatrice. 

£ Fixed upon God, in whom are all things reflected. 

g St. P • Dante. || The great Head of the Church. 



<5oo TRANSLATIONS. 

And this appears to me its quiddity."* 

Then heard I : " Very rightly thou perceivest, 
If well thou understandest why he placed it 
With substances and then with evidences." 

And I thereafterward : " The things profound, 
That here vouchsafe to me their outward show, 
Unto all eyes below are so concealed, 

That they exist there only in belief, 

Upon the which is founded the high hope, 
And therefore takes the nature of a substance. 

And it behoveth us from this belief 
To reason without having other views, 
And hence it has the nature of evidence." 

Then heard I : " If whatever is acquired 
Below as doctrine were thus understood, 
No sophist's subtlety would there find place." 

Thus was breathed forth from that enkindled lovej 
Then added : " Thoroughly has been gone over 
Already of this coin the alloy and weight j 

But tell me if thou hast it in thy purser" 

And I : " Yes, both so shining and so round, 
That in its stamp there is no peradventure." 

Thereafter issued from the light profound 

That there resplendent was : " This precious jewel, 
Upon the which is every virtue founded, 

Whence hadst thou it?" And I : "The large outpouring 
Of the Holy Spirit, which has been diffused 
Upon the ancient parchments and the new,f 

A syllogism is, which demonstrates it 

With such acuteness, that, compared therewith, 
All demonstration seems to me obtuse." 

And then I heard : " The ancient and the new 
Postulates, that to thee are so conclusive, 
Why dost thou take them for the word divine'" 

And I : " The proof, which shows the truth to me, 
Are the works subsequent, whereunto Nature 
Ne'er heated iron yet, nor anvil beat." 

'Twas answered me : " Say, who assureth thee 
That those works ever were ? the thing itself 
We wish to prove, nought else to thee affirms it." 

"Were the world to Christianity converted," 

* In the Scholastic Philosophy the essence of a thin?, distinguishing it from 
other things, wac called its Quiddity; an answer to the question, Quid est/ 
t The Old and New Testaments. 



DANTE'S PARADISO. 601 

I said, " withouten miracles, this one 

Is such, the rest are not its hundredth part; 

For thou didst enter destitute and tasting 
Into the held to plant there the good plant, 
Which was a vine, and has become a thorn!" 

This being finished, the high, holy Court 

Resounded through the sph God we \ 

In melody that there above is chanted. 

And then that Baron, 4 who from branch to branch, 
Examining, had thus conducted me, 
Till the remotest leaves we were approaching, 

Did recommence once more : " i that lords it 

Over thy intellect thy mi nth has opened, 

Up to this point, ;is it should opened be, 
So that I do approve what forth eraei 
But now thou must express what thou belli t 

And whence to thy belief it Qted." 

"O holy father, O thou spirit, who seest 
What thou believedst, bo that thou o'ercan 
Towards the sepulchre, more youthful feet/'i 

Began I, " thou dost wish me to declare 
Forthwith the manner of my prompt belief, 
And likewise thou the can-- thereof demandest, 

And I respond: In one God 1 believe, 
Sole and eterne, who all the heaven doth move, 
Himself unmoved, with love and with desire; 

And of such faith not only have 1 proofs 
Physical and metaphysical, but gives them 
Likewise the truth that from this place rains down 

Through Moses, through the Prophets, and the Ps 
Through the Evangel, and through you, who wrote 
After the fiery spirit sanctified you; J 

In Persons three eterne believe I, and these 
Oiu one and trine, 

They bear conjunction both with sunt and est. 

With the profound conjunction and divine, 

Which now 1 touch upon, doth stamp my mind 
Ofttimes the doctrine evangelical. 

This the beginning is, this is the spark 

* In the Middle As;es earthly titles were sometimes given to t!._ s iii ts. Thus 
Kcaccio speaks of Baron Messer San Antonio. 

•f St. John, xx. 3 — S. St. John was the first to reach the sepulchre, but St. PfetCi 
t first to enter it. 

St. Peter and the other Apostles, after Pentecost. 



602 TEA NSLA TIONS. 

Which afterwards dilates to vivid flame, 

And, like a star in heaven, is sparkling in me," 

Even as a lord, who hears what pleases him, 
His servant straight embraces, giving thanks 
For the good news, as soon as he is silent ; 

So, giving me its benediction, singing, 

Three times encircled me, when I was silent, 
The apostolic light at whose command 

I spoken had, in speaking I so pleased him. 



CANTO XXV. 

If it e'er happen that the Poem Sacred,* 

To which both heaven and earth have set their hand 

Till it hath made me meagre many a year, 
O'ercome the cruelty that bars me out 

fFrom the fair sheepfold where a lamb I slumbered, 

Obnoxious to the wolves that war upon it, 
With other voice henceforth, with other fleece 

Will I return as poet, and at my fontj 

Baptismal will I take the laurel crown ; 
Because into the faith that maketh known 

All souls to God there entered I, and then 

Peter for her sake so my brow encircled. 
Thereafter ward towards us moved a light 

Out of that band whence issued the first fruits 

Which of his vicars Christ behind him left, 
And then my Lady, full of ecstacy, 

Said unto me : " Look, look ! behold the Baron, § 

For whom below Galicia is frequented." 

* This "Divina Commedia," in which human science or Philosophy is symbolized 
in Virgil, and divine science or Theology in Beatrice. 

f "Fiorenza la Bella,'' Florence the Fair. In one of his canzoni Dante savs : — 
" O mountain song of mine, thou goest thy way ; 
Florence my town thou shalt perchance behold, 
Which bars me from itself, 
Devoid of love and naked of compassion." 
X This allusion to the Church of San Giovanni : " II mio bel San Giovanni," ass; 
Dante calls it elsewhere (Inf. xix. 17) is a fitting prelude to the canto in which St£ 
John is to appear. Like the "laughing of the grass" in canto xxx. 77, it is a fore- 
shadowing preface, omirifero pre/azin of what fc 

§ St. James. Pilgrimages were made to his tomb at Compostella, in Galicia. 



DANTE 'S PARADISO. 003 

In the same way as, when a dove alights 

Near his companion, both of them pour forth, 
Circling about and murmuring, their affection, 

So I beheld one by the other grand 
Prince glonhed to be with welcome gn 
Lauding the tood that there abo\e i> eaten. 

But when their gratulatiom leted, 

Silently coram m 
So Incandescent it o'ercame my right. 

Smiling thereafterward .rice: 

" spirit august, by whom the benefactions 
()t on:- V,.: r bed, 

Make- Hope reverberate in this altito 
Thou kno 1 thon dott person 

a, Jesus to l be 1 1 - light.*' — 

" Lift up tin head, ami make ■ 

Fur what comes hither from the mortal world 
Musi needs 

■ 
Came ; and mine eves I lift . ills,§ 

Which bent them down before wnn too great weight*! 
" Since through his 1 I mperor d< 1 

Thou shouldsi confronted be, before thy death, 
In tlie mi « bamber, with his Counts,^" 

So that, the truth beholdii. OUTt, 

1 [ope, which below t: 

In thee, and othi be strengthened] 

id how is flowering with it 
Thy mind, and say from whence it came to thee," 
Thus did the- second light continue still 

And the Compassionate,* 4 who piloted 
The plumage ofm) wings in Mich high flight, 
In the reply did thus anticipate mej 

* The general episdc of St. James, called the Epistpla Cattolica, 1. 17 : "Every pood 
ft and every perfect gift is liom above, and cometh down from the Father ot Lights. 

Dur Basilica ; the Church Triumphant, Paradise. 

f Peter, James, aiid John, rej theological virtues, Faith, Hope, and 

" lantv, and distinguished above the other Apostles by clearer manifestations of their 

aster's favour. 

§ " I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help." Psalm 
\\i. 1. 
II The three Apostles, luminous above him, overwhelming him with light. 

* The most august spirits of the celestial city. 
** Beatucc. 



604 TRANSLA TIONS. 

" No child whatever the Church Militant 
Of greater hope possesses, as is written 
In that Sun* which irradiates all our band; 

Therefore it is conceded him from Egypt 
+To come into Jerusalem to see, 
Or ever yet his warfare is completed. 

The other points, that not for knowledge' sake 
Have been demanded,:}: but that he report 
How much this virtue unto thee is pleasing, 

To him I leave ; for hard he will not find them, 
Nor to be boasted of ; them let him answer ; 
And may the Grace of God in this assist him !" 

As a disciple, who obeys his teacher, 
Ready and willing, where he is expert, 
So that his excellence may be revealed, 

§" Hope," said I, " is the certain expectation 
Of glory in the hereafter, which proceedeth 
From grace divine and merit precedent. 

From many stars this light comes unto me ; 
But he instilled it first into my heart, 
Who was chief singer || unto the Chief Captain, 

Hope they in thee,.'m the high Theody 

He says, all those who recognise thy namej^ 
And who does not if he my faith possesses ? 

Thou didst instil me, then, with his instilling 
In the Epistle, so that I am fall, 
And upon others rain again your rain."** 

While I was speaking, in the living bosom 
Of that effulgence quivered a sharp flash, 
Sudden and frequent, in the guise of lightning. 

Then breathed : " The love wherewith I am inflamed 
Towards the virtue still, which followed me 
Unto the palm and issue of the field, 

* In God, 

w Where everything beholds itself depicted." 

Canto xxiv. 42. 
f To come from earth to heaven. 
t " Say what it is," and " whence it cometh to thee.'* 
§ " Est spes certa expectatio future? beatitudinis, veniens e£ Dei gratia et meriU 
prcecedeidibus." Petrus Lombardus, Magister Sententiarum. 
|| The Psalmist David. 
^ The Book of Psalms or songs of God : — 

" And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee." 

Psalm ix. 10. 
** Your rain ; that is, of David and vourself. 



DANTE'S PARADISO. 605 

Wills that I whisper thee, thou take delight 
In her; and grateful to me is thy saying 
Whatever things Hope* promises to thee." 
And I : " The ancient Scriptures and the new 
*The mark establish, and this Bhows il me, 
01 all the souls whom God has made His friends* 
I ifa saith, that each one garmented 

In his own hind shall be with twofold garment-,! 

And his own land is this delicious life. 
+Thy brother, too, far more explicitly, 

There where he treateth of the robes of white, 

This revelation manifests to as," 
And first, and near the ending of these words, 

Spcrent in te from over as was 1 

To which responsive answered all the carols.§ 
Tnereafterward among th< . a light, || 

So that, ;i Cant er such a crystal 

Winter would have a month of one sole day.^f 
And as a] :iters the dance 

A joyous maiden, only to do honour 

lb the new bride, and not from any failing,** 
So saw 1 the illuminated splendour 

ffApproach the two, who in a wheel revolved, 

As was beseeming to their ardent love. 

It joined itself there in the song and n. 

And lixed on them my Lady kept her look, 

Even as a bride, silent and motionless. 

"This is the one who lay upon the breast 
+ |Of Him our Pelican; and this is he 
To the great office§§ from the cross elected." 

My Lady thus; but therefore none the more 

Removed her sight from its fixed contemplation, 
Before or afterward, these words of hers. 

* "The mark of the high calling and election sure." 

t The twofold garments arc the glorified spirit and the glorified body. 

t St. John in the Apocalypse, vii. 9: "A great multitude, which no man could 
lumber clothed with white robes." 

§ Dances ami songs commingled; the circling choirs, the celestial choristers. 

I St. John the Evangelist. 

f In winter the constellation Cancer rises at sunset ; and if it had one star as bright 
s this, it would turn ni^ht into day. 

** Such as vanity, ostentation, or the like. 

ft St. Peter and St. James are joined by St. John. JJ Christ. 

§§ Then saith I le to that disciple, u Behold thy mother !" and from that hour that 

seiple took her unto his own bouse.** St. John, xix. 27. 



6o6 TRANSLA TIONS. 

Even as a man who gazes, and endeavours 
To see the eclipsing of the sun a little, 
And who, by seeing, sightless doth become, 

So I became before that latest fire,* 

While it was said, " Why dost thou daze thyself 
To see a thing which here has no existence ? 

Earth upon earth my body is,f and shall be 
With all the others there, until our number 
% With the eternal proposition tallies ; 

With the two garments§ in the blessed cloister 
||Are the two lights alone that have ascended : 
And this shalt thou take back into your world. "fl" 

And at this utterance the naming circle 
Grew quiet, with the dulcet intermingling 
Of sound that by the trinal** breath was made, 

As to escape from danger or fatigue 

The oars that erst were in the water beaten 
Are all suspended at a whistle's sound. 

Ah, how much in my mind was I disturbed, 
When I turned round to look on Beatrice, 
At not beholding her, although I was 

Close at her side and in the Happy World. 

* St. John. 

f " If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee f* 

X Till the predestined number of the elect is complete. 

§ The two garments : the glorified spirit, and the glorified body, 

|| The two lights : Christ and the Virgin Mary. 

^ Carry back these tidings. 

** The sacred trio of St. Peter, St. James, and St. John. 



CHILDHOOD. 607 

CHILDHOOD. 

When my who' b< ight, 

ith delight. 

mother*! ai 
rode a-horseback on l knee ; 

Alike wen rms. 

And gold, and G imknowD to me 

:i M7.C, 

icked t"ar; 
] points in hi \\ , I 

And . . rtar< 

I the island 

And thou 

I . . i.l 

: sir !" 

through w< 
lit, 
And jre! npoo tl 

paint the ea b crimson light \ 

Who : 'i on high, 

And all those pearls of heaven thick-strung together, 
Dropped, clusti . his hand o*er all the sky. 

With childish r tng lips did - 

The prayer my pious mod 1 1 me: 

" ( ) G\ Qtle G< 1 ! O, lei me strive ah. 

Still to bo wise, and good, and follow thee !" 

So prayed I tor my lather and my mother. 

And lor my Bister, and for all the to-. 
The king I knew not, ami the beggar-brother, 

Who, bent with age, went. - p and down. 

They perished, the blithe days of boyhood perished, 
And all th< 1 e I knew ! 

Now have 1 but their memory, fondly cherished; — 
God ! n. r, Lose that too ! 



CoS 



TRANSLA TIONS, 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



FROM THE NOEL BOURGL'IGNON DE GUI BAROZAI. 



I hear along our street 

Pass the minstrel throngs ; 

Hark ! they play so sweet, 
On their- hautboys, Christmas songs ! 

Let us by the fire 

Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 

In December ring 
Every day the chimes j 
Loud the gleemen sing 

In the streets their merry rhymes. 
Let us by the lire 
Ever higher 

Sing them till the night expire ! 

Shepherds at. the grange, 
Where the Babe was born, 
Sang, with many a change, 

Christmas carols until morn. 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 

Sing them till the night expire ! 

These good people sang 
Songs devout and sweet ; 
While the rafters rang, 



There they stood with freezing feet 

Let us by the fire 

Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 

Nuns in frigid cells 

At this hoi}' tide, 

For want of something else, 
Christmas songs at times have tried 

Let us by the fire 

Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 

Washerwomen old, 

To the sound they beat, 

Sing by rivers cold, 
With uncovered heads and feet. 

Let us by the fire 

Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 

Who by the fireside stands 

Stamps his feet and sings ; 

But he who blows his hands 
Not so gay a carol brings. 

Let us by the fire 

Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 




CONSOLATION. 609 



CONSOLATION. 

TOM. DU TERRIER, GENTLEMAN I liu DEATH 

OK HIS DAUGHTER. 

ICALHBEBE, 

WILL then, Du Perrier, thy sorrow be eternal ? 

And shall the sad discourse 
Whispered within thy heart, by tenderness paternal, 

Only augment its foi 

Thy daughter's mournful fate, into the tomb descending 
By death's frequented ways, 

Ii !t becom ■ to thee a labyrinth never ending; 
Where thy lost reason SO 

I know the charms that made her youth a benediction : 
Nor should I be content, 

As a censorious friend, t>> solace thine afflit don, 

I . hei disparagement. 

the world, which fairest thing exposes 
'I'd fates the most forlorn ; 

he tOO hath lived as long as live the r< 
The Space of one brief morn. 



Death hath hi- 1 vs. unparalleled, unfeeling : 

All prayers to him are vain ; 

Cruel, he Stops his ears, and, deaf to Olir appealing; 

us to complain. 

The poor man in his hut. with only thatch for cover, 

(JntO these laws must bend ; 
The sentinel that guards the barriers of the Louvre 

Cannot our Kings defend. 

To murmur against death, in petulant defiance, 

Is never for the be-' ; 
To will what God doth will, that is the only science, 

That gives us any rest. 



6ia TRANS LA TIONS. 



THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD. 

FROM THE FRENCH OF JEAN REBOUL. 

An angel with a radiant face 

Above a cradle bent to look, 
Seemed his own image there to trace 

As in the waters of a brook. 

" Dear child ! who me resemblest so," 
It whispered, " come, O come with me ! 

Happy together let us go, 

The earth unworthy is of thee ! 

" Here none to perfect bliss attain ; 

The soul in pleasure suffering lies ; 
Joy hath an undertone of pain, 

And even the happiest hours their sighs. 

" Fear doth at every portal knock ; 

Never a day serene and pure 
From the o'ershadowing tempest's shock 

Has made the morrow's dawn secure. 

" What, then, shall sorrows and shall fears 
Come to disturb so pure a brow ? 

And with the bitterness of tears 
Those eyes of azure troubled grow ? 

" Ah no ! into the fields of space, 
Away shalt thou escape with me ; 

And Providence will grant thee grace 
Of all the days that were to be. 

" Let no one in thy dwelling cower 

In sombre vestments draped and veiled : 

But let them welcome thy last hour, 
As thy first moments once they hailed. 

" Without a cloud be there each brow ; 

There let the grave no shadow cast ; 
When one is pure as thou art now, 

The fairest day is still the last." 

And waving wide his wings of white, 
The angel, at these words, had sped 

Towards the eternal realms of light ! — 
Poor mother ! see, thy son is dead. 



MY SI RET. 
MY SECRET. 

FROM THE PREH : ARVERS. 

My soul its secret hath, my life too hath its mysterv, 
A love eternal in a moment oceived ; 

Hopeless the evil is, I have not told its hist 

And she who was the cause nor knew it nor believed. 

Alas : I shall have passed close by her unperceived, 

For ever at her side, and yet I C ever lonely, 

I shall unto the end have made life's journey, only 

Daring to ask for nought, and having nought received 

For her, though God hath made her gentle and | 

She will go on her way distraught and without hearing 

These murmurings of love that round her steps ascend. 

Piously faithful still unto her austere duty. 

AVill saw when she shall read these lines full of her 1 

" Who can this woman be?" and will not comprehend. 



REMORSE. 

?ROM Tin: GERMAN OF GSAI Vi>.\ li ITEM. 

How 1 started up in the night, in the night, 

Drawn on without rest or reprieval ! 
The streets, with their watchmen, were lost to my sight, 

\ I wandered so light 

In the night, in the night. 
Through the gate with the arch mediaeval. 

The mill brook rushed through the rocky height, 
I leaned o'er the bridge in my yearning : 

Deep under me watched I the waves in their flight, 
As they glided so light 
In the night, in the night, 

Yet backward not one was returning. 

O'erhead were revolving, so countless and bright, 

The stars in melodious existence ; 
And with them the moon, more serenely bedight ;— 

They sparkled so light 

In the night, in the night, 
Through the magical measureless distance. 



6 1 2 TRA NSLA TIONS. 

And upward I gazed, in the night, in the night, 
And again on the waves in their fleeting ; 

Ah woe ! thou hast wasted thy days in delight, 
Now silence thou light 
In the night, in the night, 

The Remorse in thy heart that is beating. 



WANDERER'S NIGHT-SONGS. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 
I. 

Thou that from the heaven's art, 
Every pain and sorrow stillest, 
And the doubly wretched heart 
Doubly with refreshment fillest, 
I am weary with contending ! 
Why this rapture and unrest ? 
Peace descending 
Come, ah, come into my breast 



O'er all the hill-tops 

Is quiet now, 

In all the tree-tops 

Hearest thou 

Hardly a breath ; 

The birds are asleep in the trees 

Wait ; soon like these 

Thou too shalt rest. 



THE FUGITIVE. 

A TARTAR SONG, FROM THE PROSE VERSION OP CHODZKO. 
I. 

" He is gone to the desert land ! 
I can see the shining mane 
Of his horse on the distant plain, 
As he rides with his Kossak band 



THE FUGITIVE. 

u Come back, rebellious on 
Let thy proud heart relent ; 
Come back, to my tall, white tent, 
Come back, my only 5011 ! 

" Thy hand in freedom shall 
Cast thy hawks, when morning I . 
On the swans of the Seven Laic 

On the lakes of Karajal. 

u I will give thee leave to stray 

And pasture thy hunting steeds 

In the long grass and the ; 
Of the m 

" I will give thee my coat of mail 
( )f softest leather made. 
With choicest steel inlaid ; — 

"Will not all this prevail?" 



"This hand no longer shall 
Cast my hawks, when morning breaks, 
( m the swans of the Seven Lakes, 
On the lakes of Karajal. 

11 I will no longer stray 

And pasture my hunting steeds 
In the long grass and the i 
Of the meadows of Karaday. 

" Though thou give me thy coat of mail 
Of softest leather made. 
With choicest steel inlaid, 
All this cannot prevail. 

" What right hast thou, Khan, 
To me, who am my own ? 
Who am slave to God alone, 
And not to any man ? 

" God will appoint the day 
When I again shall be 
By the blue, shallow sea. 
Where the steel-bright sturgeons ; 



6 1 4 TRANS LA TIONS. 

" God, who doth care of me, 
In the barren wilderness, 
On unknown hills, no less 
Will my companion be. 

" When I wander, lonely and lost 
In the wind ; when I watch at night 
Like a hungry wolf, and am white 
And covered with hoar-frost ; 

" Yea, wheresoever I be, 
In the yellow desert sands, 
In mountains or unknown lands, 
Allah will care for me !' ; 



Then Sobra, the old, old man, — 
Three hundred and sixty years 
Had he lived in this land of tears, — 
Bowed down and said : " O Khan ! 



" If you bid me, I will speak. 
There's no sap in dry grass, 
No marrow in dry bones ! alas, 
The mind of old men is weak ! 

" I am old, I am very old : 
I have seen the primeval man, 
I have seen the great Gingis Khan, 
Arrayed in his robes of gold. 

" What I say to you is the truth ; 
And I say to you, O Khan, 
Pursue not the star-white man, 
Pursue not the beautiful youth. 

" Him the Almighty made ; 
He brought him forth of the light, 
At the verge and end of the night, 
When men on the mountain prayed. 

" He was born at the break of day, 
When abroad the angels walk ; 
He hath listened to their talk, 
And he knoweth what they say. 



THE BOY AXD THE TROOk'. C i 5 

" Gifted with Allah's grace. 
Like the moon of Ramazan 
When it shines in the skies, O Khan, 
Is the light of his beautiful face. 

" When first on the earth he trod, 
The hist word- that 1. 
Were these, as he stood and pra] 
There is no God but God. 

" And he shall be king of men, • 
For Allah hath heard his prayer, 
And the Archangel in the air, 
Gabriel hath said. Amen :" 



THE BOY AM) 'III! BROOK. 

ARMENIAN I OF ALISHAN, 

Down from yon distant mountain height 

The brooklet llows through the village street; 
A DO) i "ines forth to wash his hands. 
Washing, yes washing, there he stands, 
In the water cool and sweet. 

" Brook, from what mountain dost thou come ? 

() in}' brooklet cool and sweet l M 
" I come from yon mountain high and cold, 
Where lieth the new snow on the old, 

And melts in the summer heat." 

" Brook, to what river dost thou go ? 

O my brooklet cool and sweet !" 
u I go to the river there below 
Where in bunches the violets grow. 

And sun and shadow meet." 

" Brook, to what garden dost thou go ? 

O my brooklet cool and sweet !" 
" I go to that garden in the vale 
Where all night long the nightingale 

Her love-song doth repeat." 



6 16 TRANSLA TIONS. 

" Brook, to what fountain dost thou go ? 

O my brooklet cool and sweet !" 
" I go to that fountain, at whose brink 
The maid that loves thee comes to drink, 
And, whenever she looks therein, 
I rise to meet her, and kiss her chin, 

And my joy is then complete.'' 




LATEST ORIGINAL POEMS. 



LADY WENTWORTH. 

One hundred years ago, and something more, 
In Queen Street. Portsmouth, at her tavern door, 
Neat as a pin and blooming as a rose, 
Stood Mistress Stavers in her furbelo* 
Just as her cuckoo-cL Hung nine. 

Above lier head, resplendent on the s 

The portrait of the Earl of Halifax, 

In scarlet COat and periwig of llax, 
Surveyed at leisure .-.'A her varied charms, 
Her cap, her bodice, her white folded arms. 

And half resolved, though he was past his | 

And rather time, 

To fall down at her feet, and to declare 

The pas-ion that h id driven 

For from hi don he had 

Stavers, her hu ed in bottle-green, 

Drive his new Flying 5 c in hand, 

Down the Long lane and out into the land, 
And knew that he was far upon the v. 
To [pswicfa and to Boston on the I 

Just then the meditations of the Karl 
Were interrupted by a little girl. 

Barefooted, ragged, with neglected hair. 

Eyes full of laughter, neck and shoulders bare, — 

A thin slip of a girl, like a new moon, 

Sure to be rounded into beauty soon ; 

A creature men would worship and adore, 

Though now in mean habiliments she bore 

A pail of water, dripping, through the street, 

And bathing, as she went, her naked feet. 

It was a pretty picture, full of grace, — 
'Die slender form, the delicate, thin lace ; 
The swaying motion, as she hurried by ; 
The shining feet, the laughter in her eye, 



620 LATEST ORIGINAL POEMS. 

That o'er her face in ripples gleamed and glanced, 

As in her pail the shifting sunbeam danced : 

And with uncommon feelings of delight 

The Earl of Halifax beheld the sight. 

Not so Dame Stavers, for he heard her say 

These words, or thought he did, as plain as day : 

" O Martha Hilton ! Fie ! how dare you go 

About the town half dressed, and looking so 1" 

At which the gypsy laughed, and straight replied : 

" No matter how I look ; I yet shall ride 

In my own chariot, ma'am." And on the child 

The Earl of Halifax benignly smiled, 

As with her heavy burden she passed on, 

Looked back, then turned the corner, and was gone. 

What next, upon that memorable day, 
Drew his august attention was a gay 
And brilliant equipage, that flashed and spun, 
The silver harness glittering in the sun, 
Outriders with red jackets, lithe and lank, 
Pounding the saddles as they rose and sank, 
While all alone within the chariot sat 
A portly person with three-cornered hat, 
A crimson velvet coat, head high in air, 
Gold-headed cane, and nicely powdered hair, 
And diamond buckles sparkling at his knees, 
Dignified, stately, florid, much at ease. 
Onward the pageant swept, and as it passed 
Fair Mistress Stavers courtesied low and fast ; 
For this was Governor Wentworth, driving down 
To Little Harbour, just beyond the town, 
Where his Great House stood looking out to sea, — 
A goodly place, where it was good to be. 

It was a pleasant mansion, an abode 
Near and yet hidden from the great high road, 
Sequestered among trees, a noble pile, 
Baronial and colonial in its style ; 
Gables and dormer-windows everywhere, 
And stacks of chimneys rising high in air, — 
Pandsean pipes, on which all winds that blew 
Made mournful music the whole winter through. 
Within, unwonted splendours met the eye, — 
Panels, and floors of oak, and tapestry ; 



LADY WENTJWORTH. 621 

Carved chimney-pieces, where on brazen dogs 

Revelled and roared the Christinas fires of logs ; 

Doors opening into darkness una* 

Mysterious passages, and flights of stairs ; 

And on the walls, in heavy gilded fran. 

The ancestral Wentworths with Old-Scripture names. 

Such was the mansion where the great man dwell, 

A widower and childless ; and he felt 

The loneliness, the un< loom 

That like a presence haunted every room ; 

For though not given to weakness, he could feel 

The pain of wounds that ache because they heal. 

The years came and : □ in all, — 

And passed in cloud and sunshine o'er the 11-11 ; 
The dawns their splendour through its chambers shed, 
'I he sunsets Hushed its western windows red ; 
The snow was on its roofs, the wind, the rain ; 
Its woodlands were in leaf and bare again ; 

waxed and waned, the h: : 
In the broad river ebbed and flowed the tide. 
Ships went to sea. and ships came horn 

And the slow years ailed by and ceased to be. 

And all th ad Martha Hilton served 

In the (iieat House, not wholly unobserved ; 
By day, by night, the silver 1 rescent g 

Though hidden by clouds, her light still shining through; 

A maid of all work, whether coarse or line, 

A servant who made service seem divine ! 

Through her each room was fair to look upon, 

The mirrors glistened and the brasses .shone, 

The very knocker on the outer door, 

If she but passed, was brighter than before. 

And now the ceaseless turning of the mill 
( )f Time, that never for an hour stands still, 
('.round out the Governor's sixtieth birthday 
And powdered His brown hair with silver-gray. 
The robin, the forerunner of the spring, 
The bluebird with his jocund carolling, 
The restless swallows building in the eaves, 
Tiie golden buttercups, the grass, the leaves, 
The lilacs tossing in the winds of May, — 
All welcomed this majestic holiday ! 



622 LATEST ORIGINAL POEMS. 

He gave a splendid banquet, served on plate, 
Such as became the Governor of the State, 
Who represented England and the King, 
And was magnificent in everything. 
He had invited all his friends and peers, — 
The Pepperels, the Langdons, and the Lears, 
The Sparhawks, the Penhallows, and the rest, 
For why repeat the name of every guest ? 
But I must mention one, in bands and gown, 
The rector there, the Reverend Arthur Brown 
Of the Established Church ; with smiling face 
He sat beside the Governor and said grace ; 
And then the feast went on, as others do, 
But ended as none other I e'er knew. 

When they had drunk the King, with many a cheer, 
The Governor whispered in a servant's ear, 
Who disappeared, and presently there stood 
Within the room, in perfect womanhood, 
A maiden, modest and yet self-possessed, 
Youthful and beautiful, and simply dressed. 
Can this be Martha Hilton ? It must be ! 
Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other she ! 
Dowered with the beauty of her twenty years 
How lady-like, how queen-like she appears ; 
The pale, thin crescent of the days gone by 
Is Dian now in all her majesty ! 
Yet scarce a guest perceived that she was there, 
Until the Governor, rising from his chair, 
Played slightly with his ruffles, then looked down 
And said unto the Reverend Arthur Brown : 
" This is my birthday ; it shall likewise be 
My wedding-day ; and you shall marry me !" 

The listening guests were greatly mystified, 

None more so than the rector, who replied : 

" Marry you ? Yes, that were a pleasant task, 

Your Excellency ; but to whom, I ask ?" 

The Governor answered : " To this lady here ;" 

And beckoned Martha Hilton to draw near. 

She came and stood, all blushes, at his side, 

The rector paused. The impatient Governor cried : 

" This is the lady ; do you hesitate ? 

Then I command you as Chief Magistrate." 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 

The rector read the service loud and clear : 
" Dearly beloved, we are gathered here," 
And so on to the end. At his command, 
On the fourth finger of her fair left hand 
The Governor placed the ring ; and that was all 
Martha was Lady Wcntworth of the Hall ! 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 

Baron Castine of St. Castine 

I Lis left his chateau in the Pyrenees, 

And sailed ai ross the western si 

When he went away from his fair demesne 

The birds were building, the woods were green, 

And now the winds Of winter blow 

Round the turrets of the old chateau. 

The birds are silent and imperii, 

The leaves lie dead in the ravine, 

And the Pyrenees are white with snow. 

His Hither, lonely, old, and gray, 

Sits by the fireside day by 

Thinking ever one thought of care ; 

Through the southern windows, narrow and tall, 

The sun shines into the ancient hall, 

And makes a glory round his hair. 

The house-dog, stretched beneath his chair, 

('.roans in his sleep as ifin pain, 

Then wakes and yawns, and sleeps again, 

So silent is it everywhere ; 

So silent you can hear the mouse 

Run and rummage along the beams 

Behind the wainscot of the wall ; 

And the old man rouses from his dreams, 

And wanders restless through the house, 

As if he heard strange voices call. 

His footsteps echo along the floor 

Of a distant passage, and pause awhile ; 

He is standing by an open door 

Looking long, with a sad, sweet smile, 



624 LATEST ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Into the room of his absent son. 
There is the bed on which he lay, 
There are the pictures bright and gay, 
Horses and hounds and sun-lit seas ; 
There are his powder-flask and gun, 
And his hunting-knives in shape of a fan ; 
The chair by the window where he sat, 
With the clouded tiger-skin for a mat, 
Looking out on the Pyrenees, 
Looking out on Mount Marbore' 
And the Seven Valleys of Lavedan. 
Ah me ! he turns away and sighs ; 
There is a mist before his eyes. 

At night, whatever the weather be, 
Wind or rain or starry heaven, 
Just as the clock is striking seven, 
Those who look from the windows see 
The village Curate, with lantern and maid, 
Come through the gateway from the park 
And cross the court-yard damp and dark, — 
A ring of light in a ring of shade. 
And now at the old man's side he stands, 
His voice is cheery, his heart expands, 
He gossips pleasantly, by the blaze 
Of the fire of fagots, about old days, 
And Cardinal Mazarin and the Fronde, 
And the Cardinal's nieces fair and fond, 
And what they did, and what they said, 
When they heard his Eminence was dead. 

And after a pause the old man says, 

His mind still coming back again 

To the one sad thought that haunts his brain, 

" Are there any tidings from over sea ? 

Ah, why has that wild boy gone from me ?" 

And the Curate answers, looking down, 

Harmless and docile as a lamb, 

" Young blood ! young blood ! It must so be !* 

And draws from the pocket of his gown 

A handkerchief like an oriflamb, 

And wipes his spectacles, and they play 

Their little game of lansquenet 

In silence for an hour or so, 

Till the clock at nine strikes loud and clear 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 

From the village lying asleep below, 
And across the court-yard, into the dark 
Of the winding pathway in the park 
Curate and lantern disappear, 
And darkness reigns in the old chi 

The ship has come back from ov< r 
She has been signalled from be'. 
And into the harbour of Bordeaux 
She sails with her gallant company. 
But among them is nowhere 
The brave young I tine ; 

He hath tarried behind, I ween, 
In the beautiful land of Art adie ! 

And the father paces to and fro 

Through th< I au, 

Waitin I I hear the hum 

Of wheels on the road that runs i 

Of servants hurrying here and t' 

The voice in the COUrt-yard, the step on the stair, 

Waiting for some one who doth 1. 

Tut letters there -re, which the old man reads 

To the Curate, when he comes at night, 

Word I 

Repeats his prayers and tells his beads; 

Letters full of the rolling sea. 

Full of a young man's joy to be 

Abroad in the world, alone and free : 

Full of adventures and wonderful scenes 

< )f hunting the deer through forests vast 
In the royal grant of Pierre du ( '.. 

Of nights in the tents of the Tarratincs ; 

< )f Madocawando the Indian chief. 
And his daughters, glorious as queens. 
And beautiful beyond belief; 

And so soft the tones of their native tongue, 
The words are not spoken, they are sung ! 

And the Curate listens, and smiling says : 
" All, yes, dear friend ! in our young days 
We should have liked to hunt the deer 
All day amid those forest scenes, 
And to sleep in the tents of the Tarratincs ; 
But now it is better sitting here 



626 LA TEST ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Within four walls, and without the feai 

Of losing our hearts to Indian queens ; 

For man is fire and woman is tow, 

And the Somebody comes and begins to blow." 

Then a gleam of distrust and vague surmise 

Shines in the father's gentle eyes, 

As firelight on a window-pane 

Glimmers and vanishes again ; 

But nought he answers ; he only sighs, 

And for a moment bows his head ; 

Then, as their custom is, they play 

Their little game of lansquenet, 

And another day is with the dead. 

Another day, and many a day 
And many a week and month depart, 
When a fatal letter wings its way 
Across the sea, like a bird of prey, 
And strikes and tears the old man's heart 
Lo ! the young Baron of St. Castine, 
Swift as the wind is, and as wild, 
Has married a dusky Tarratine, 
Has married Madocawando's child ! 
The letter drops from the father's hand : 
Though the sinews of his heart are wrung, 
He utters no cry, he breathes no prayer, 
No malediction falls from his tongue ; 
But his stately figure, erect and grand, 
Bends and sinks like a column of sand 
In the whirlwind of his great despair. 
Dying, yes, dying ! His latest breath 
Of parley at the door of death 
Is a blessing on his wayward son. 
Lower and lower on his breast 
Sinks his gray head ; he is at rest ; 
No longer he waits for any one. 



For many a year the old chateau 
Lies tenantless and desolate ; 
Rank grasses in the court-yard grow, 
About its gables caws the crow ; 
Only the porter at the gate 
Is left to guard it, and to wait 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 

The coming of the rightful h 
No other life or sound is th 
No more the Curate come- at I 
No mure is seen the unsteady light, 
Threading the alleys of the | 
'1 he windows of the hall are dark, 
ers dreary, cold, and ; 

At lei t, when the winter is | 

And birds are buildn. 
With flying skirts is the Curate seen 
th v. 

long 
But it 

• the porter 1 
That at last the I tine 

ing home with his Indian queen, 
tthout a week's delay ; 
And all the house must be swept and clean, 
And all things set in l; 
And tiie solemn porter shakes his head : 

And the answer he makes day'! 

We will see, as the blind man said !"' 

A lei'. 

The cock upon the village church 

northward from his | 
As if beyond the ken of man 

To see die ships come sailn 

And pass the I sir 

And pass the Tower el" ('< rdouan. 

In the church below is cold in clay 

The heart that would have leaped for joy, — 

( ) tender heart of truth and trust ! — 

To see the coming of that day. 

In the church below the lips are dust, 

1 hist are the hands, and dust the feet, 

That would have been so swift to meet 

The coming of that wayward boy. 

At night the front of the old chateau 

Is a blaze of light above and below ; 

There's a sound of wheels and hoofs in the street, 

A cracking of whips, and scamper of feet, 

Voices are shouting, and horns are blown, 

The Baron hath come again to his own. 



628 LATEST ORIGINAL POEMS. 

The Curate is waiting in the hall, 

Most eager and alive of all 

To welcome the Baron and Baroness ; 

But his mind is full of vague distress, 

For he hath read in Jesuit books 

Of those children of the wilderness. 

And now, good, simple man ! he looks 

To see a painted savage stride 

Into the room, with shoulders bare, 

And eagle feathers in her hair, 

And round her a robe of panther's hide. 

Instead, he beholds with secret shame 

A form of beauty undefined, 

A loveliness without a name, 

Not of degree, but more of kind ; 

Nor bold nor shy, nor short nor tall, 

But a new mingling of them all. 

Yes, beautiful beyond belief, 

Transfigured and transfused, he sees 

The Lady of the Pyrenees, 

The daughter of the Indian chief. 

Beneath the shadow of her hair 
The gold-bronze colour of the skin 
Seems lighted by a fire within, 
As when a burst of sunlight shines 
Beneath a sombre grove of pines, — 
A dusky splendour in the air. 
The two small hands, that now are pressed 
In his, seem made to be caressed, 
They lie so warm and soft and still, 
Like birds half hidden in a nest, 
Trustful, and innocent of ilL 
. And, ah ! he cannot believe his ears 
When her melodious voice he hears 
Speaking his native Gascon tongue ; 
The words she utters seem to be 
Part of some poem of Goudouli. 
They are not spoken, they are sung ! 
And the Baron smiles, and says, " You see, 
I told you but the simple truth ; 
Ah, you may trust the eyes of youth !" 

Down in the village day by day 
The people gossip in their way, 






THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 629 

And stare to see the Baroness pass 
On Sunday morning to early Mass ; 
And when she kneeleth down to pray 
They wonder, and whisper together, and say, 
"Surely this is no heathen 1; 
And in course of time they learn to bless 
The BarOD and the Baroness. 
And in course of time the Curate learns 
A secret so dreadful that by turns 
I le 1-, ii e and lire, he freezes and burns. 
The Baron at confession hath said, 
That though this woman be his wife, 
IK- hath wed her as the Indians wed, 
lie hath bought her for a gun and a knife ! 
And the Curate replies: "O profligate, 
( ) Prodigal Son ! return once more 
To the open arms and the open door 
Of the Church, or ever it be too Lite. 
Thank God thy father did not live- 
To see what he could not forj 
On thee, so reckless and pen 
Me left his blessing, not his CUTSe. 
bait the nearer the dawn the darker the night, 
And by going wrong all things come right ; 
Things have been mended that were worse, 
And the worse the nearer they are to mend. 
For the sake of the living and the dead 
Thou shalt be wed as Christians wed, 
And all things come to a happy end." 

O sun, that followest the night, 
In yon blue sky, serene and pure, 
And pourest thine impartial light 
Alike on mountain and on moor, 
Pause for a moment in thy course, 
And bless the bridegroom and the bride ! 
() Gave, that from thy hidden source 
In yon mysterious mountain-side, 
Pursuest thy wandering way alone, 
And leaping down its steps of stone, 
Along the meadow lands demure 
Stealest away to the Adour, 
Pause for a moment in thy course 
To bless the bridegroom and the bride ! 



630 LATEST ORIGINAL POEMS. 

The choir is singing the matin song, 
The doors of the church are opened wide, 
The people crowd, and press, and throng 
To see the bridegroom and the bride. 
They enter and pass along the nave ; 
They stand upon the father's grave ; 
The bells are ringing soft and slow ; 
The living above and the dead below 
. Give their blessing on one and twain : 
The warm wind blows from the hills of Spain, 
The birds are building, the leaves are green, 
And Baron Castine of St. Castine 
Hath come at last to his own again. 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. 



At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea, 

Within the sandy bar, 
At sunset of a summer's day, 
Ready for sea, at anchor lay, 

The good ship Valdemar. 

The sunbeams danced upon the waves, 

And played along her side, 
And through the cabin windows streamed 
Tn ripples of golden light, that seemed 

The ripple of the tide. 

There sat the captain with his friends, — 

Old skippers brown and hale, 
Who smoked and grumbled o'er their grog, 
And talked of iceberg and of fog, 

Of calm and storm and gale. 

And one was spinning a sailor's yarn 

About Klaboterman, 
The Kobold of the sea ; a sprite 
Invisible to mortal sight, 

Who o'er the rigging ran. 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILh 631 

Sometimes he ham in the hold, 

Sometimes upon 
Sometimes abeam, soi baft, 

Or at the bows he san Aaed, 

And made all ti 

He helped the sail leir work, 

And toiled with jovial 
He helped them hoist and reef die sails, 
He helped them stow the casks and b; 

And heave the anchor in. 

e unto the lazy louts, 
The idlers of the a 
Them to torment is his delight 
And worry them by day and night 

And pinch them black and blue. 
And woe to him who 

Klaboterman behold : 
It is a certain sign oi death ! — 
1 abin-boy here held his breath, 

He felt his blood run cokL 



The jolly skipper paused awhile, 

And then an ; 

I Ship," quoth he, 

" A ship of the Dead that sails the 

And is called the Cannilhan. 

'•A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew. 

And before the gale, or against the gale, 
She sails without a rag of sail, 
Without a helmsman 

haunts the Atlantic north and south, 

But mostly the mid-sea, 
Where three great rocks rise bleak and bare 
Like furnace-chimneys in the air. 

And are called the Chimneys Three. 

" And ill betide the luckless ship 

That meets the Camiilhan : 
Over her decks the seas will leap, 
She must go down into the deep, 

And perish mouse and man." 



632 LATEST ORIGINAL POEMS. 

The captain of the Valdemar 

Laughed loud with merry heart. 
" I should like to see this ship," said he ; 
" I should like to find these Chimneys Three, 

That are marked down in the chart. 

" I have sailed right over the spot," he said, 

" With a good stiff breeze behind, 
When the sea was blue, and the sky was clear, — 
You can follow my course by these pinholes here, — 
And never a rock could find." 

And then he swore a dreadful oath, 

He swore by the Kingdoms Three, 
That should he meet the Carmilhan, 
He would run her down, although he ran 
Right into Eternity ! 

All this, while passing to and fro, 

The cabin-boy had heard ; 
He lingered at the door to hear, 
And drank in all, Avith greedy ear, 

And pondered every word. 
He was a simple country lad, 

But of a roving mind ; 
" O it must be like heaven," thought he, 
" Those far-off foreign lands to see, 

And fortune seek and find ! " 

But in the fo'castle, when he heard 

The mariners blaspheme, 
He thought of home, he thought of God, 
And his mother under the churchyard sod, 

And wished it were a dream. 
One friend on board that ship had he 

'Twas the Klaboterman, 
Who saw the Bible in his chest, 
And made a sign upon his breast, 

All evil things to ban. 

in. 
The cabin windows have grown blank 

As eyeballs of the dead ; 
No more the glancing sunbeams burn 
On the gilt letters of the stern, 

But on the figure-head ; 



THE BALI. AD OF CARMILHAN. 633 

On Valdemar Victorious, 

Who looketh with disdain 
To see his image in the tide 
Dismembered float from side to side, 

And reunite again. 

" It is the tide," those skippers cried, 

"That swings the vessel so; 
It is the tide ; it rises fast, 

time tO Say farewell at last, 

Tis time for us to go." 

They shook the captain by the hand, 

11 ( lood lu< k ! good lu< k I" they cried ; 
Eau li (ace was like tl im, 

As, broad and red. ti. ne. 

Went o'er the vessel's 

The sun went down, the full moon r« 

The tide was at i'^ flood ; 
And all the winding (reeks and I 
And blOad lows seemed ablaze, 

The sky was red as blood. 

The south-west wind blew fresh and fair, 

As fair as wind could be ; 
Bound for Odessa, o'er the bar, 
With all sail set, the Yaldemar 

Went proudly out to 

The lovely moon climbs up the sky 

.\s one who walks in dreams ; 
A tower of marble in her light, 
A wall of black, a wall of white, 

The stately vessel seems. 

Low down upon the sandy coast 

The lights begin to burn ; 
And now, uplifted high in air, 
They kindle with a fiercer glare, 

And now drop far astern. 

The dawn appears, the land is gone, 

The sea is all around ; 
Then on each hand low hills of sand 
Emerge and form another land ; 

She steereth through the Sound. 



654 LATEST ORIGINAL POEMS. 

Through Kattegat and Skager-rack 

She flitteth like a ghost ; 
By day and night, by night and day, 
She bounds, she flies upon her way, 

Along the English coast. 

Cape Finis terre is drawing near, 

Cape Finisterre is past ; 
Into the open ocean stream 
She floats, the vision of a dream 

Too beautiful to last. 

Suns rise and set, and rise, and yet 

There is no land in sight ; 
The liquid planets overhead 
Barn brighter now the moon is dead, 
And longer stays the night. 

IV. 

And now along the horizon's edge 

Mountains of cloud uprose, 
Black, as with forests, underneath, 
Above, their sharp and jagged teeth 
Were white as drifted snows. 

Unseen behind them sank the sun, 

But flushed each snowy peak 
A little while with rosy light, 
That faded slowly from the sight, 

As blushes from the cheek. 
Black grew the sky, all black, all black ; 

The clouds were everywhere. 
There was a feeling of suspense 
In nature, a mysterious sense 

Of terror in the air. 

And all on board the Valdemar 

Was still as still could be ; 
Save when the dismal ship-bell tolled, 
As ever and anon she rolled, 

And lurched into the sea. 
The captain up and down the deck 

Went striding to and fro ; 
Now watched the compass at the wheel, 
Now lifted up his hand to feel 

Which way the wind might blow. 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILR 635 

And now he looked up at the sails, 

And now upon the d 
In every fibre of his frame 
the storm before it 1 
had no thought of sle 

' . ' and sudd :.'.y 

With a great rush of 1 

ig the ocean white with spume, 
III darkness like the day of doom, 

the hurra . 

1 loud to cloud, 

And tore the dark in : 

• jet 
Of white fire, like 

through. 

Then all around was dark 8J 
blacker than U 

But in thai • of light 

Tin- captain saw a fearful si 

And thought of the .ore. 

For right ahead lay the Ship of I 

The ghostly CanniBian ! 

1 [er masts were stripped. I 
And on her bowsprit, poised in air. 
Sat the Klaboterman. 

Her (iew of ghosts was all on deck 

Or clambering up the shrouds ; 
The boatswain's whistle, the captain's hail, 

Were like the piping of the gale, 
And thunder in the clouds. 

And close behind the Carmilhan 

There rose up from the sea, 
As from a foundered ship of stone, 
Three bare and splintered masts alone ; 

Tiie\- were the Chimneys Three ! 

And onward dashed the Valdemar 

And leaped into the dark ; 
A denser mist, a colder blast, 
A little shudder, and she had passed 

Right through the Phantom Bark. 



636 LATEST ORIGINAL POEMS. 

She cleft in twain the shadowy hulk, 

But cleft it unaware ; 
As when careering to her nest, 
The sea-gull severs with her breast 

The unresisting air. 

Again the lightning flashed ; again 

They saw the Carmilhan, 
Whole as before in hull and spar ; 
But now on board the Valdemar 

Stood the Klaboterman. 

And they all knew their doom was sealed ; 

They knew that death was near ; 
Some prayed who never prayed before, 
And some they wept, and some they swore, 

And some were mute with fear. 

Then suddenly there came a shock, 

And louder than wind or sea 
A cry burst from the crew on deck, 
As she dashed and crashed, a hopeless wreck, 
Upon the Chimneys Three. 

The storm and night were passed, the light 

To streak the East began ; 
The cabin-boy, picked up at sea, 
Survived the wreck, and only he, 

To tell of the Carmilhan. 



NO TE S. 



esters of Finn den. 

The title ( • nted by the 

kings of 1 I ydenck du Buo], in • 

f them i ami Beaudoin I tail Judith, daughti 

Charlie the Ball, hum the French O 
After him, the title of I unL Phili| . 

rung later in the on: re there- 

lire rather Counts than Foresters. Philip| 

and died ol the plague .it St. Jean-d 1 ' tons of the city by the 

Christians. Guy de Dam| ient died in the 

kon ami successoi ol Robert de Bethui Yolande de Bui 

with the bridle ol in- horse, fbi hat i 

> his first wife, Blanche d'Anjou. 

I (j. S ..'t/y (Limes, like queens attended. 

When Philippe-le-Bel, king of France, vi with his queen, die 

kstonished at the it she exclaimed! "J. 

ftre leule reine ici, mais il paratt <|ue eeux de Fhuidrc <|u. 
kont tous des princes, cat Icuin lunmo sont babtlleea cnmm< 
reines." 

When the burgomasters < f Ghent, Bruges Jnd \ homage 

lotting John, in 1351, they were received with great pomp and distinction j but 
Invited to a festival, thc> observed Hut ituir seats .'t table were not furnished 1 
cushions; whereupon, to make known their displeasure at il is want ol regard to their 
dignity, thrv folded their richly-embro'-dered cloaks and seated themselves upon them. 
On rising (mm table, they left their cloaks behind them. and. being informed of their 
apparent forget fulness, Simon van Eertrycke, burgomaster ol Bruges, replied; "We 
Flemings are not in the lubit oi cat 1 .-r cushions atter dinner.* 1 

ho lore the Fleece of Gold, 
Philippe de Burgogne, surnamed Le Bon, espoused Isabella of Portugal, on the 
i loth of January, l4/,o; and on the • titUted the jamoui order of the 

Fleece of Gold. 

c 42. / beheld the pintle Mary, 

Marie de Valo Burgundy, was left by the death of her father, Charlea- 

le-Tenn raire, at the age ol twenty, the richest heiress of Europe. She came to Bi 

•untess of Flanders, in 1477. and in the same year was married by proxy to the 
Archduke Maximilian. According to the custom of the time, the Duke of Bavaria, 
Maximilian's substitute, slept with the princess. They were both in complete 1 
I sword, and attended by four armed guards. Marie was udoR 
her subjects foi her gentleness and her many other virtues. 



6 3 8 



NOTES* 



Maximilian was son of the Emperor Frederick the Third, and is the same person 
mentioned afterwards in the poem of Nuremberg as the Kaiser Maximilian, and the 
hero of Pfinzing's poem of Teuerdank. Having been imprisoned by the revolted 
burghers of Bruges, they refused to release him, till he consented to kneel in the public 
square, and to swear on the Holy Evangelists and the body of Saint Donatus, that he 
would not take vengeance upon them for their rebellion. 

Page 42. The lloody tattle of the Spurs of Gold. 
This battle, the most memorable in Flemish history, was fought under the walls of r 
Courtray, on the nth of July, 1302, between the French and the Flemings, the former : 
commanded by Robert, Comte d'Artois, and the latter by Guillaume de Juliers, and 
Jean, Comte de Namur. The French army was completely routed, with a loss of 
twenty thousand infantry and seven thousand cavalry, among whom were sixty-three 
princes, dukes, and counts, seven hundred lords-banneret, and eleven hundred noble- 
men. The flower of the French nobility perished on that day; to which history has 
given the name of the Journee des Eperons d'Or from the great number of golden 
spurs found on the field of battle. Seven hundred of them were hung up as a trophy 
in the church of Notre Dame de Courtray ; and, as the cavaliers of that day wore but a 
single spur each, these vouched to God for the violent and bloody death of seven hundred 
of his creatures. 

Page 42. Saw the fight at Minnewater. 

When the inhabitants of Bruges were digging a canal at Minnewater to bring the 
waters of the Lys from Deynze to their city, they were attacked and routed by the 
citizens of Ghent, whose commerce would have been much injured by the canal. 
They were led by Jean Lyons, captain of a military company at Ghent, called the 
Chaperons Blancs. He had great sway over the turbulent populace, who, in those 
prosperous times of the city, gained an easy livelihood by labouring two or three days 
in the week, and had the remaining four or five to devote to public affairs. The fight at 
Minnewaterwas followed by open rebellion against Louis de Maele, the Count of Flanders - 
and Protector of Bruges. His superb chateau of Wondelghem was pillaged and burnt, 
and the insurgents forced the gates of Bruges, and entered in triumph, with Lyons 
mounted at their head. A few days afterwards he died suddenly, perhaps by poison. 

Meanwhile the insurgents received a check at the village of Nevele ; and two hundred 
of them perished in the church, which was burned by the Counrs orders. One of the 
chiefs, Jean de Lannoy, took refuge in the belfry. From the summit of the tower he 
held forth his purse filled with gold, and begged for deliverance. It was in vain. His , 
enemies cried to him from below to save himself as best he might; and, half-suffocated 
with smoke and flame, he threw himself from the tower, and perished at their feet. ! 
Peace was soon afterwards established, and the Count retired to faithful Bruges. 

Page 42. The Golden Dragon's nest. 

The Golden Dragon, taken from the church of St. Sophia, at Constantinople, in one 
of the Crusades, and placed on the belfry of Bruges, was afterwards transported to Ghent 
by Philip van Artevelde, and still adorns the belfry of that city. 

The inscription on the alarm-bell at Ghent is, " Mynen naem is Roland ; als ik klep 
is er brand, and als ik luy is er victorie in het land." My name is Roland; when 
1 toll there is fire, and when I ring there is victory in the land. 

Page 46. That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every ch^ie. 
An old popular proverb of the town runs thus : 

" Iftirnberp's Hand 
Oeht durch alle Land." 
Nuremberg's hand 
Goes through every land. 



NOTES. 6 39 

Page 46. Sat the poet Mi r M use. 

Mclchior Pfinzing was one of the most celeDrated German potts of the sixteenth 
century. The hero ot his Teuerdank was the reigning emperor, Maximilian: ami the 
poem was to the Germans ol tb . c Orlando F lians. 

Maximilian is mentioned before, in the Belfry o/E Seepage 41. 

Page 46. In the chx ■ . Sebald Ueeps 1 nshrined his holy 

The tomb o( Saint Sebald, in the church which bears his name, is one of the richest 
works of art in Nui is of bronze, vr Vischer and his 

sons, who laboured upun it thirl 1: is adorned with nearly one hundred 

figures, among which those oi 
beauty. 

Page 46. /// the church "/'sainted Lawrence standi a pix of sculpture ■> 
This pix, Of : crament, is by the hand 1 

Krait. Jt is an exquisite piece ol sculpture, in white stone, and ri 
sixty-four teet. It stands ni the choir, whose richly* 1 with 

sours. 

. 
I I ■ W J corporation of the 

singers. Hans Sachs, the cobbler of Nureml^erg, though 1 
Twelve, was the m< 

lie flourished in the sixteenth on I ad him thirty-4 umes 

>i manuscript, containing n\<> hundred and 
hundred ( 

1 Adam Pu$chmaH*i 

Adam Puscman, in his poem on the death of 1: . -cribes him as he 

I man, 
and dove-like, 

\s bo had, i'. ■ ard, 

And r . 

Beautiful with . 

93. Lake imperial Churlema^nc. 
During his lifetime he did not disdain, says M< ntetauieu, u to Bell the eggf from the 
farm-yards ol bis d the superfluous vegetables ol ins . le he 

I distributed among his people the wealth of the Lombards ami the immense tlCS 
i the Huns." 

Page 97. As Lope says. 

" La lulera 
do 1111 Espauol scntado no se templa, 
si no Ic rapreMntan ea dos I. 

1 final juieio desde el Generis." 

Lope de Vega. 

OQ. .ItcrnuvcH) Satanas. 
" Digo, Sefiora, rcspondio Sancho, lo que tengo dicho, que de los azotes abcrnuncio. 
Abrenuncio habeis de decir, Sancho, y no como decis, dijo cl Duque." — Dun Quixote^ 
Part ii., C. xxx\. 

106. Fray Carillo. 
The allusion here is to a Spanish epigram. 

pre, Fray Carrillo, estiis 
.1 fuera: 
qoida en ru celds t -stuviera 
para n<> verte j:imas !" 

Bob ' de Fuber. Floresta, No. 611. 



$Mo NOTES, 

Page 106. Padre Francisco. 
This is from an Italian popular song. 

" ' Padre Francesco, 
Padre Francesco ! * 
— Cosa volete del Padre Francesco — 
' V'e una bella ragazzina 
Che si vuole eonfessar !" 
Fatte l'entrare, fatte l'entrare ! 
Che la votrlio confessare !" 

Kopisch. Volkdhumliche Poesien aus alien Mundarten 
Italiens und seiner Inseln, p. 194. 

Page 108. Ave ! cujus calcem dare. 
From a monkish hymn of the twelfth century, in Sir Alexander Croke's Essay on the 
Origin, Progress, and Decline of Rhyming Latin Verse, p. 109. 

Page 114. Count of the Cales. 
The Gipsies call themselves Cale's. See Borrow's valuable and extremely interesting 
work, The Zincali ; or, an Account of the Gipsies in Spain. London, 1841. 

Page 117. Asks if his money-bags icould rise. 
" Y volvie'ndome a un lado, vi a un avariento, que estaba preguntando a otro, (que 
por haber sido embalsamado, y estar lejos sus tripas, no hablaba porque no habian 
Jlegado si habian de resucitar aquel dia todos los enterrados,) 1 si resucitarian unos 
©olsones suyos?" — EL Sueno de las Calaveras. 

Page 118. The river of his thoughts. 
This expression is from Dante : — 

" Si che chiaro 
Per essa scenda della mente il fiume." 

Byron has likewise used the expression ; though I do not recollect in which of his 
poems. 

Page 118. Mari Franca. 
"Porque caso Mari-Franca 
cuatro leguas de Salamanca." 

Page 119. Ay, soft, emerald eyes. 
The Spaniards, with good reason, consider this colour of the eye as beautiful, and 
celebrate it in song; as, for example, in the well-known V^Uancico : — 
" iAy ojuelos verdes, 
ay los mis ojuelos, 
ay hagan los cielos 
que de mi te acuerdes ! 



Tengo confianza 
de mis verdes ojos." 

Bohl de Faber. Floresta, Xo. 2i$. 

Dante speaks of Beatrice's eyes as emeralds. Purgatorio, xxxi. 116. Lami says, in 
his Annotazioni, " Erano i suoi occhi d' un turchino verdiccio, simile a quel del mate." 

Page 120. The Avenging Child. 
See the ancient ballads of El Infante Vengador, and Calaynos. 

Page 120. All are sleeping. 
From the Spanish. Buhl's Floresta, No. 282. 

Page 130. Good night ! 
From the Spanish; as are likewise the songs immediately following, and that which" 
commences the first scene of Act III, 



NOTES. 6 -*-i 

Page 141. The evil eye. 
"In the Gitano language, casting the e\il eve is called Qucrdar Nasula, which 
imply means making sick, and which, according to the common superstition, is 
ocomplished by casting an evil louk at people, especially children, who, trom I 
I vness of their constitution, are supposed 10 be more easily blighted than th. 54 
rions mat;. r receiving the they fall sick, and die in a few hours. 

Is have very litJ eye, though the bel 

very prevalent, especially in Andalusia, amongst the lower or>: lorn is 

msidered ir( '> a "d on that account a small horn, tipped with silver, is 

oquently attached t»> the children's no rd braided from the hair of 

.. Should the 

:, and instant!) SI :> horns mav be pur,: of the silur- 

Imiths 1 shops at Seville." — Boiutow's Zaualt, \ol. 1. c. ix. 

Page 142. On (lie top of a mountain I stand. 

This and the following scraps of song arc from Borrow's Zincali ; or, an Account 

in Spain. 

Page 149. If thou art sleeping, maiden. 
From the Spanish; as is likewise the song of the Contrabandista on par 

196. Behold, ul last, 

I tall and tapering mast 
Is suiing tutu its place. 

1 wish to anticipate a crit'v:-m on th 1 ugh not 

finally, vessels -re launched fu 
prion, as better suited I 

at it is neither a blunder nor a poetic lice: , i ; a friend 111 r\ 

Maine, writes me thus: — 

In this State, and ah . 1 ed upon 

Lunched last summer at Ellsworth, fully rigged and spur o a ship 

fcas launched here, with her 1 Is, and cargo aboard. She 

I iy and — 1 hope this will not .111!" 

P 102. S ' Humphrey Gilbert, 

When the wind abated and the \ near enough, the Admiral was seen 

'>nstantlv sitting in the stern, with a book in his hand. On the Qth of September he 

I a« seen tor the la^t time, and was heard by the people of the Hind to say, ' V. 

•ar heavei ■ land.' In the following night thi ship suddenly 

The people in the other vessel kept a good look-out for him during the 

mainder of the voyage. On the 22nd of September they arrived, through much tem- 

[est and peril, at Falmouth. But nothing more was seen or heard of the Admiral." — 

Islkm >.. Biography, i. 20^. 

123. The Golden Legend. 
The epithet of Golden \va< given to Jacobus Voragine's Legends of the Saints by his 
llmirers ; tor. as Wynkin de Wotde says, " I-tke as passeth cold in value all other 
th all other good books." But Edward Leigh, in much 
1 stress of mind, calls it "a book written by a man of a leaden heart for the ba-( 1 
!he errours, that are without wit or reason, and of a brazen forehead, for his impudent 
[oldnesse in reporting things so fabulous and incredible." 

This wotk, the great text-book of the legendary lore of the Middle Ages, was trans- 
a:cd into Srench in the fourteenth century by Jean de Vignay, and in the fifteenth 



642 NOTES. 

into English by William Caxton. It has lately been made more accessible by a nev 
French translation: La Legende Doree, traduite du Latin par M. G. B. Paris 
1850. There is a copy of the original, with the Gesta Longobardorum appended, i: :: 
the Harvard College Library, Cambridge, printed at Strasburg, 1496. The title-par- 
is wanting; and the volume begins with the Tabula Legendorum. 

1 have called this poem the Golden Legend, because the story upon which it f 
founded seems to me to surpass all other legends in beauty and significance. It exhibit, 
amid the corruptions of the Middle Age?, the virtue of disinterestedness and self-sacrifice 
and the power of Faith, Hope, and Chanty, sufficient for all the exigencies of life an 
death. 

Page 222. For these bells have been anointed 

And baptized with holy uater ! 

The Consecration and Baptism of Bells is one of the most curious ceremonies of th 
Church in the Middle Ages. The Council of Cologne ordained as follows :— 

" Let the bells be blessed, as the trumpets of the Church militant, by which th - 
people are assembled to hear the word of God ; the clergy to announce his mercy by day 
and his truth in their nocturnal vigils : that .by their sound the faithful may be invite* 
to prayers, and that the spirit of devotion in them may be increased. The fathers hav 
also maintained that demons affrighted by the sound of bells calling Christians t- 
prayers, would flee away ; and when they fled, the persons of the faithful would b 
secure : that the destruction of lightnings and whirlwinds would be averted, and the spirit 
of the storm defeated."— Edinburgh Encyclopedia, Art. Bells. See also Scheible' 
Xloster, vi. 776. 

Page 246. It is the malediction of Eve ! 

" Nee esses plus quam femina, quae nunc etiam viros transcendis, et quae maledic 
tionem Evee in benedictionem vertisti Mariae."— Epistola Abator di Heloisso?. 

Page 263. To come lack to my text. 

In {riving this sermon of Friar Cuthbert, as a specimen of the Risus Paschales, or stree: 
preaching of the monks at Easter, I have exaggerated nothing. This very anecdoti; 
offensive as it is, comes from a discourse of Father Barletta, a Dominican fnar of th 
fifteenth century, whose fame as a popular preacher was so great, that it gave rise t. 

the proverb — 

Nescit preaicare 
Qui nescit Barlettare. 

«Amon°- the abuses introduced in this century," says Tiraboschi, " was that of & 
citin- from the pulpit the laughter of the hearers; as if that were the same thing 
converting them. We have examples of this not only in Italy, but also in Franc 1 
where the sermons of Menot and Maillard, and of others, who would mate a bettr 
appearance on the stage than in the pulpit, are still celebrated for such follies. _ 

If the reader is curious to see how far the freedom of speech was carried in the 
popular sermons, he is referred to Scheible's Kboster, vol. i., where he will find extrac- 
from Abraham a Sancta Clara, Sebastian Frank, and others; and, in particular, an ana* 
mous discourse called Der Gruuel der rencustung— The Abomination of Desolation- 
preached at Ottakrinff, a village west of Vienna, November 25, 1*82, in which tt i 
licence of language is carried to its utmost limit. 

See also Predicalonana, ou Revelations singulieres et amusantes sur les Predicateuri 
-par G P. Philomneste. (Menin.) This work contains extracts from the popul: 
sermons of St. Vincent Ferrier, Barletta, Menot, Maillard, Marini, Raulm, V alladie- 
De Besse, Camus, Pere Andre, Bening, and the most eloquent of all, Jacques brvdain 

My authority for the spiritual interpretation of bell-ringing, which follows, is Durai 
dus, Ration. Divin. Offic, Lib. i. cap. 4- 



NOTES, 643 

Page 266. The Nativity, a Miracle-Play. 

The earliest mystery or religious play which has been preserved is the Chrislui 
Pasehon ot Gregor) Nazianzen, written in Greek in the fourth ccj tury. to this 

';umc the remarkable Latin plays of Roswitha, the nun of Gandcrsheim, in the tenth 
entury, which, though crude, and wanting in artistic construction, are marked 

. od deal of dramatic power and interest. A handsome edii with a 

French translation, ha-, been lately published, entitled. . 

The most important collection Mysteries and Miracle-Plays arc those 

known as the TownJey, the Chester, and the Covenrx) plays. 1 

.ctions baa been published i 1 

.jeare Society. In his introduction to the Coventry Mj .]-.. llalliwcll, 
A notes the folio* 

" Before the suppression ol the 1 us for the pageants 

fnat were played therein, up' n Corpus Chri b daj i -wl con- 

[iuence of people thither, h which 

. had 

la all the eminent pad 

ol the New i nglish Ruhn. . 

ill by an ancient MS., intitl I 

I nave been told by some ol I people, 

Extraordinary great, and yielded do small advantage to tl 

Roman Church. Al I ^ind 

.ti 1 one* in 1 which took •. 

•; tin wjtt, in her "Art-Student in 

Munich," vol. i. cha] . : — 

"We had corn ezpecrio I - feel our souls 1 material a representation 

m Chi I must be in 

flliracle-I'lav. Yi t so far, strange to confess, neither horror, disgust, nor com 
*.as excited in our minds. mnity and simplicit\ 

$ut the wholl ■rmaiKc, that to me, at least, anything 1' I er- 

n of the ludicrous, would have seemed more irreverent on my part than 
mple, childlike rendering oi the sublime I We felt at times 

Is though the figui Hires bad become 

Animated, and were moving before us; there was the same simple arrangement and 

prilliant colour of draper) ; imest, quiet dignity about the heads, whilst 

pe entire absence of .ill tl I wonderfully increased the illusion. There 

inly like the early Italian pictures, that you 

■ add have declared they were the works of Giotto and Perugino, and not li\ing men 

■men, had not the figures mov< their 

tichlv-coloured draper)', anil the sun cast Ion?, moving shadows behind them on the 

e. The : shine and sh •• fluttered by the wind, 

p very striking and beautiful; one could imagine how the Greeks must have 

[vailed themselvi i of such striking effects in their theatres open to thesky.*' 

Mr. Bayard Taylor, in his "Eldorado," gives a description of a Mysterj he saw 

rfbrm 1 v • I nel, in Mexit . See vol. ii. chap. zi. 

; .nst the wing-wall of the Hacienda del Mayo, which, occupied one end of 

rm, on which stood a table covered with scarlet cloth. A 

. on one end of the platform, represented the manger of 

pethlchem ; while a cord, stretched from its top across the plaza to a hole in the front 

If the church, bore a large tinsel star suspended by a hole in its centre. There was 



6 44 



NOTES. 



.quite a crowd in the plaza, and very soon a procession appeared, coming up from th 
lower part of the village. The three kings took the lead ; the Virgin, mounted on ai 
ass that gloried in a gilded saddle and rose-besprinkled mane and tail, followed them: 
led by the angel; and several women, with curious masks of paper, brought up th<: 
rear. Two characters of the harlequin sort — one with a dog's head on his shoulders; 
and the other a bald-headed friar, with a huge hat hanging on his back — played all sort: 
of antics for the diversion of the crowd. After making the circuit of the plaza, th: 
Virgin was taken to the platform, and entered the manger. King Herod took his sea. 
at the scarlet table, with an attendant in blue coat and red sash, whom I took to be hh 
Prime Minister. The three kings remained on their horses in front of the church : 
but between them and the platform, under the string on which the star was to slide' 
walked two men in long white robes and blue hoods, with parchment folios in then 
hands. These were the Wise Men of the East, as one might readily know from thei - 
solemn air, and the mysterious glances which they cast towards all quarters of th 
heavens. 

" In a little while, a company of women on the platform, concealed behind a curtain' 
sang an angelic chorus to the tune of ' O pescator dell' onda.' At the proper moment 
the Magi turned towards the platform, followed by the star, to which a string was con 
veniently attached, that it might be slid along the line. The three kings followed th 
star till it reached the manger, when they dismounted, and inquired for the sovereigr 
whom it had led them to visit. They were invited upon the platform and intro- 
duced to Herod, as the only king ; this did not seem to satisfy them, and, after sorm 
conversation, they retired. By this time the star had receded to the other end of th 
line, and commenced moving forward again, they following. The angel called then 
into the manger, where, upon their knees, they were shown a small wooden box, sup 
posed to contain the sacred infant; they then retired, and the star brought then 
back no more. After this departure, King Herod declared himself greatly confused b; 
what he had witnessed, and was very much afraid this newly-found king would weaker 
his power. Upon consultation with his Prime Minister, the Massacre of the Innocent 
was decided upon as the only means of security. 

"The angel, on hearing this, gave warning to the Virgin, who quickly got dowr 
from the platform, mounted her bespangled donkey, and hurried off. Herod's Prirn 
Minister directed all the children to be handed up for execution. A bov, in a ragge< 
sarape, was caught and thrust forward; the Minister took him by the heels in spite o' 
his kicking, and held his head on the table. The little brother and sister of the boy 
thinking he was really to be decapitated, yelled at the top of their voices in an agony o 
terror, which threw the crowd into a roar of laughter. King Herod brought down hi 
sword with a whack on the table, and the Prime Minister, dipping his brush into a po 
of white paint which stood before him, made a flaring cross on the boy's face. Severn 
other boys were caught and served likewise ; and finally, the two harlequins, whos. 
kicks and struggles nearly shook down the platform. The procession then went off « 
the hill, followed by the whole population of the village. All the evening there wen 
'andangos in the meson, bonfires and rockets on the plaza, ringing of bells, and higl 
-mass in the church, with the accompaniment of two guitars, tinkling to lively polkas.' 

In 1852 there was a representation of this kind by Germans in Boston ; and I hav< 
now before me the copy of a playbill, announcing the performance on June 10. 1852 
in Cincinnati, of the " Great Biblico-Historical Drama, the Life of Jesus Christ," wit! 
the characters and the names of the performers. 

Page 281. The Scriptorium. 

A most interesting volume might be written on the Calligraphers and Chrysographers 
the transcribers and illuminators of manuscripts in the Middle Ages. These mei 
were for the most part monks, who laboured sometimes for pleasure and sometimes fir 
penance, in multiplying copies of the classics and the Scriptures. 

" Of all bodily labours which are proper for us," says Cassiodorus, the old Calabriai 



It N01 64; 

«,^onk, " that of copying books has always been more to my taste than any »ther. The 
ise the mind is instructed by the reading of the Holy Scriptures, 
U 1 it is a kind ot homily to the other reaching 

1 th the hand, byconveiting tl 1 publishing to men in silence 

ol sahation; in line, it is fighting against the demon with pen and ink. As 
Upt'uy WOI demon recei\ 

in his chair to copy book . without 

:n the spot, and the labour of his hands is felt even where h 
.cry monasti Scriptorium. Nicolas de Clain mix, St. 

.!, which he calls Scnptori- 
jum, where he 1 And Mabillon, in hi 

.re still to be seen at Citeaux " many of I 
Inhers an : tx 1 kbin I 
■1 Suvestre's Paleographie Untverselle contains a \.tst number of fac-similes of the most 
Jfautitul illuminated manuscripts ot all ages and all count' n in his 

.r three hui. 
count of the books I ..nd the colophons, witn which, as with a 

Uisfactorj flourish of the pen, they closed their kmg-continu 
h- je are verj I treating the : 

n for the wi : malediction oil 

Uy one wh 1 should steal the I 1 subjoin . — 

U" As pilgrims rejoice, beholding their native land, so are transcribers madi 
the en 1 ol a 
it to write the end of an) book." 
. "Yewl tVt written this book, the humble and sinful 

lieodulus." 

: 
trophe, m bn ite ; and 

1 s.ue you all. Am 
thing is well, praise the transcriber; if ill. pardon his unskilful 

. 1 1 .\ t>>r me, the most sinful of all men, ' 

"The hand that lias written this book shall de< t, and go 

own to the grave, thecorruptei <d all bodies. But all y» 
Irist, pray that I may obtain the pardon «'f my sins, 
It h tears, brothers and fathers, accept my miserable supplication, Oholycnoit! I 

n called John, woe is me! 1 am called 1! ~, not in 

1 tion." 

. tr shall carry away this book, without permission of the Pope, may he incur 
h malediction ol the il lj Trinity, of the Holy Mod 1 of G 
•post, ol the one hundred and eighteen holy Nicer I IS ; the 

morrah ; and the hall 1 anathema, amen." 

• " Keep sate, () Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, my three fingers, with which 1 
me written this 

: " Mathusalas Machir transcribed this divincst book in toil, infirmity, and 
.any." 

'* Bacchius Barbardorius and Michael Sophianus wrote this book in sport and I 

-ing the guests of their noble and common friend Vincentius Pinellus, and Petrus 

pnnius, a most learned man." 

This list colophon, Montfaucon does not suffer to pass without reproof. " Othei 
Iligraphers," he remarks, "demand only the prayers of their readers, and the pardon 

"their bins; but these glory in their wantonness." 

289. Drink- down to your peg. 
One of the canons of Archbishop Anselm, promulgated at the beginning of the 
tfelfth century, ordains " that priests go not to drinking bouts, nor drink to pegs." 



646 NOTES. 

In the times of the hard-drinking Danes, King Edgar ordained that "pins or nails 

should be fastened into the drinking-cups or horns at stated distances, and whosoever 1 

shall drink beyond those marks at one draught should be obnoxious to a severe punish-} 

ment." 

Sharpe, in his " History of the Kings of England," says : "Our ancestors were for-' 
merly famous for compotation; their liquor was ale, and one method of amusing them- 
selves in this way was with the peg-tankard. I had lately one of them in my hand. It 
had on the inside a row of eight pins, one above another, from top to bottom. It held 
two quarts, and was a noble piece of plate, so that there was a gill of ale, half a pint, 
Winchester measure, between each peg. The law was, that every person that drank ; 
was to empty the space between pin and pin, so that the pins were so many measures 
to make the company all drink alike, and to swallow the same quantity of liquor. This 
was a pretty sure method of making all the company drunk, especially if it be con- 
sidered that the rule was, that whosoever drank short of his pin, or beyond it, was 
obliged to drink again, and even as deep as to the next pin." 

Page 290. The Convent of St. Gildas de Rhut/s. 

Abelard, in a letter to his friend Philintus, gives a sad picture of this monastery. " I 
live/' he says, "in a barbarous country, the language of which I do not understand; I 
have no conversation, but with the rudest people. My walks are on the inaccessible 
shore of a sea, which is perpetually stormy. My monks are only known bv their dis- 
soluteness, and living without any rule or order. Could you see the abbey, Philintus, you 
would not call it one. The doors and walls are without any ornament, except the heads 
of wild boars and hinds' feet, which are nailed up against them, and the hides of fright- 
ful animals. The cells aie hung with the skins of deer. The monks have not so much . 
as a bell to wake them, the cocks and dogs supply that defect. In short, they pass their 
whole days in hunting: would to heaven that were their greatest fault, or that their ■ 
pleasures terminated there ! I endeavour in vain to recall them to their duty; they all 
combine against me, and I only expose myself to continual vexations and dangers. I 
imagine I see every moment a naked sword hang over my head. Sometimes they sur- 
round me, and load me with infinite abuses; sometimes they abandon me, and I am 
left alone to my own tormenting thoughts. I make it my endeavour to merit by my 
sufferings, and to appease an angry God. Sometimes I grieve for the loss of the house 
of the Paraclete, and wish to see it again. Ah, Philintus, does not the love of Heloise 
still burn m my heart ? I have not yet triumphed ovet that unhappy passion. In the 
midst of my retirement I sigh, I weep, I pine, I speak the dear name Heloise, and am 
pleased to hear the sound." — Letters of the celebrated Abelard and Heloise. Trans- 
lated by Mr. John Hughes. Glasgow, 1751. 

Page 306. Were it not for my magic garters and staff. 

The method of making the Magic Garters and the Magic Staff is thus laid down in 
" Les Secrets Mervcilleux du Petit Albert," a French translation of " Alberti Parvi Lucii 
Libellus ;le Mirabilibus Naturae Arcanis." 

" Gather some of the herb called motherwort, when the sun is entering the first de- 
gree of the sign of Capricorn; let it dry a little in the shade, and make some garters of 
the skin of a young hare; that is to say, having cut the skin of the hare into strips two 
inches wide, double them, sew the before-mentioned herb between, and wear them on 
your legs. No horse can long keep up with a man on foot who is furnished with 
these garters." — P. 128. 

"Gather, on the morrow of All Saints, a strong branch of willow, of which you will 
make a staff, fashioned to your liking. Hollow it out, by removing the pith from within, { 
after having furnished the lower end with an iron ferrule. Put into the bottom of thel| 
staff the two eyes of a young wolf, the tongue and heart of a dog, three green lizards, 
and the hearts of three swallows. These must all be dried in the sun, between two 



NOTES. 647 

en first sprinkled with finely-pulverized saltpetre. Besi< 
staff seven leaves ol vervain, gathered on the eve of St. John the Baptist, with 
fctone ol divers colours, which stop the 

*i ot the staff with a pome! ol box, 01 ot my other material von please, and be . * 

it this staff will guarantee you trom the perils ami mishaps which too often befall 
bvellers, either from robbers, wild I venomous animals. It will 

;o procure )uu the good will of those with whom )ou lodge." — 1*. 130. 

Elmo's stars. 

So the Italian sailors call the phosphorescent gleams that sometimes play about the 

I ists and rigging ot ifa 

foge 312. Thi St mooi 
For a history of the c< rider is 

luction to the i laniim ; 

.J to Kill ' ,...'■.: French trans- 

aion ol . 

Tin. BONG Ol Hiawatha. — L.Ida — if I may so call it — is founded on a 

ridition prevalent among the North American In of miraculous 

Srth who was sent among them to clear their ri\. 

teach them the arts ol |- M .'. by the 

vera] ii tm< - ol Mi h ibou, Chiabo, ■ 
hoolcraf 'urn of him in hfc 

idttion, and P the Indian Tribes <>f the I 

I I rt iii- p. 314, may be found the Iroquois form of the tradition, derived frpm the 
1 rbal 11 11 1 . ti< ms of ai 1 riief. 

Into this old tradition 1 have woven other curious Indian legends, drawn chiefly from 
he various and valuable writing of Mr. Schoolcraft, to whom the litcran \ 
bted tor his indefatigable zeal in rescuing from oblivion so muc 

rendarj 1 >re of the Indians. 

The si. ne ol the poem is among the Ojibways on the southern shore of Lake Supe- 
ior, in the region between the Pictured Rocks and the Grand Sable. 

r 337. In the Vale 0/ Tawasentha. 

This valley, now called Norman's Kill, is in Albany County, New York. 

328. On the Mountains of the Prairie. 
Mr. Catlin, in his Letters end Notes on the Manners, Customs, «/•</ Condition of the 
\<»tlt American Indians, vol. ii. p. if>o. gives an interesting account of the Coteau 
«. a Prairies, and the Red Pipe-stone Quarry. He says: — 
" Here (.according to their traditions) happened the mysterious birth of the red pipe, 
hich his blown ifs tumes of peace and war to the remotest corners of the continent; 
hich has visited every warrior, and passed through its reddened stem the irrevocable 
ath of war and desolation. And here, also, the peace-breathing calamet was born, and 
inged with the eagle's quills, winch lias shed its thrilling fumes over the land, and 
toothed the fury ol the relentless savage. 

"The Great Spirit at an ancient period here called the Indian nations together, and, 
tanding on the precipice of the red pipe-stone rock, broke from its wall a piece, and 
prmde a huge pipe by turning it in his hand, which he smoked over them, and to the 
\orth, the South, the East, and the West, and told them that this stone was red — that 
l was their flesh — that they must use it for their pipes of peace — that it belonged to 
hem all, and that the war-club and scalping-knife must not be raised on its ground. 
At the last whiff of his pipe his head went into a great cloud, and the whole surface of 
lie rock for several miles was melted and glazed; two great ovens were opened beneath, 



648 NOTES. 

and two women (guardian spirits of the place) entered them in a blaze of fire ; am 
they are heard there yet (Tso-mec-cos-tee and Tso-me-cos-te-won-dee), answering 
the invocations of the high-priests or medicine-men, who consult them when they 
visitors to this sacred place." 

Page 331. Hark you, Bear ! you are a coward. 

This anecdote is from Heckewelder. In his account of the Indian Nations, he de- 
scribes an Indian hunter as addressing a bear in nearly these words. " I was present, 1 
he says, " at the delivery of this curious invective ; when the hunter had despatched the 
bear, I asked him how he thought that poor animal could understand what he said to 
it ? ' Oh/ said he in answer, ' the bear understood me very well ; did you not observe 
how ashamed he looked while I was upbraiding him?'" — Transactions of the Ame- 
rican Philosophical Society, vol. 1. p. 240. 

Page 335. Hush ! the Naked Bear will get thee ! 

Heckewelder, in a letter published in the Transactions of the American Philosophical 
Sociehj, \ol. iv. p. 260, speaks of this tradition as prevalent among the Mohicans and 
Delawares. 

"Their reports," he says, "run thus: that among all animals that had been for- 
merly in this country, this was the most ferocious; that it was much larger than the 
largest of the common bears, and remarkably long-bodied ; all over (except a spot o\ 
hair on its back of a white colour), naked 

" The history of this animal used to be a subject of conversation among the Indians, 
especially when in the woods a-hunting. I have also heard them say to their children 
when crying : ' Hush ! the naked bear will hear you, be upon you, and devour you.' "" 

Page 340. JVhere the Falls of Minnehaha, &c. 

" The scenery about Fort Snelling is rich in beauty. The Falls of St. Anthony are 
familiar to travellers, and to readers of Indian sketches. Between the fort and these 
falls are the 'Little Falls,' forty feet in height, on a stream that empties into the Mis 
sissippi. The Indians call them Mine-hah-hah, or 'laughing waters.'" — Mrs. Eastman'; 
Dacotah, or Legends of the Sioux, Introd. p. ii. 

Page 359. Sand Hills of the Nagoic IFudjoo. 

A description of the Grand Sable, or great sand-dunes of Lake Superior, is given in 
Foster and Whitney's Report on the Geology of the Lake Superior Land District, 
part ii. p. 131. 

"The Grand Sable possesses a scenic interest little inferior to that of the Pictured 
Rocks. The explorer passes abrupdy from a coast of consolidated sand to one of loose 
materials ; and although in the one case the cliffs are less precipitous, yet in the other 
they attain a higher altitude. He sees before him a long reach of coast, resembling a 
vast sand-bank, more than three hundred and fifty feet in height, without a trace of 
vegetation. Ascending to the top, rounded hillocks of blown sand are observed, with 
occasional clumps of trees, standing out like oases in the desert." 

Page 359. Onaicay ! Awake, beloved ! 
The original of this song may be found in Littell's Living Age. vol. xxv. p. 45. 

Page 361. Or the Red Swan floating, flying. 
The fanciful tradition of the Red Swan may be found in Schoolcraft's Algic Re- 
searches, vol. ii. p. 9. Three brothers were hunting on a wager to see who would 
bring home the first game. 

"They were to shoot no other animal," so the legend says, "but such as each was 
;n the habit of killing. They set out different ways ; Odjibwa, the youngest, had not 
gone far before he saw a bear, an animal he was'not to kill, by the agreement. He 



NOTES. 649 

v dlowed him close, and drove an arrow through him, which brought him to the ground. 
Although contrary to the bet, he immediately commenced skinning him, when sud- 
denly some-tin: all the air around him. He rubbed his eyes, thinking 
»vas perhaps deceived ; but without effect, lor the red hue continue . .. he 
leard a strange noise at a distance. It fir>t appeared like a human voice, 
illowing the sound tor somi res of a lake, and soon saw the 
>bject he was looking for. At a distance out on the lake --at a most beautiful I 
->wan, whose plumage glittered in the sun, ai. : , 1 . 1 then malu 

tine noise be had beai L He v.as within long bow-shot, and, pulling the arrow fh 
the how-string up to Ins ear, took deliberate aim and shot. The Bin 

ml he shot and shot again till his quiver, was empty. Still th. v:ng 

round and round, stretching . and dipping its bill into tl . 

jess of the arrows shot at it. Odjibwa ran home, and got all his own and bis brotl 
irrows, and shot them all away. He then stood and gaa . While 

standing, he remembered hte brother's saying that in tl 's medicine- 

aek were three maj ic arrows. Off he started, his anxietj to kill tl 

11 scruples. At any other time he n his 

lather's medicine-sack j but now he hastily seized the three am ,k, leaving 

the other contents of the sack scattered over the i there. He 

hot the first arrow with great precision, . 

• till closer; as he took the last arrow, he felt his arm firmer, it up with 
ugour, saw it pass through the neck of the swan a little ab i 

not prevent the bird from flying off, which it did, hov. fl pping its 

kings and rising gradually into the air, and then flying oil towards the sinking ol the 
fcun." — Pp. 10 — 12. 

U'htn I think "J my ieluved. 

:.al of this song may be found in O/w'ta, p. 15. 

Page 365. Sing the mysteries (f Mo/idamin. 
The Indians hold the maize, or Indian corn, in great veneration. "They esteem it 
f>o important and divine a grain," says Schoolcratt, "that their story-tellers invented 
Larious tales. i n which this idea is symbolized under the form of a special gift from the 
tircit Spirit. The Odjibwa-Algoiujuins, who call it Monda-mm. thai is, the Spirit's 
rrain or berry, base a pretty story of this kind, in which the stalk in lull tassel is repre- 

• cnted as descending fn'in the sky, under the guise of a handsome youth, in answer to 
the prayers of a young man at his fast of virility, or coming to manhood. 

" It is well known that corn-planting, and corn-gathering, at least among all the 
till uncolonized tribes, are left entirely to the females and children, and a few super- 
innuated old men. It is not generally known, perhaps, that this labour is not com- 
pulsory, and that it is assumed by the females as a just equivalent, in their view, for the 
ru ions and continuous labour of the other sex, in providing meats, and skins for 
clothing, by the chase, and in defending their villages against their enemies, and keeping 
intruders off their territories. A good Indian housewife deems this part of her prero- 
gative, and prides herself to have a store of corn to exercise her hospitality, or duly 
honour her husband's hospitality, in the entertainment of the lodge guests." — Oneota, 
}). 82. 

Page 366. Thus the fields shall le more fruitful. 
'A singular proof of this belief, in both sexes, of the mysterious influence of the 
steps of a woman on the vegetable and insect creation, is found in an ancient custom, 
which was related to me, respecting corn-planting. It was the practice of the hunter's 
wife, when the field of corn had been planted, to choose the first dark or over-clouded 
evening to perform a secret circuit, sons hahilement, around the field. For this pur- 
pose she slipped out of the lodge in the evening, unobserved, to some obscure nook, 
where she completely disrobed. Then, taking her matchecota, or principal garment* 



^5° XOTES. 

in one hand, she dragged it around the field. This was thought to insure a prolific 
<crop, and to prevent the assaults of insects and worms upon the grain. It was sup- 
posed they could not creep over the charmed line." — Oneota, p. 83. 

Page 367. With his prisoner-string he iound him. 

" These cords/' says Mr. Tanner, " are made of the bark of the elm-tree, by boiling 

and then immersing it in cold water The leader of a war party commonly 

carries several fastened about his waist, and if, in the course of the fight, any one of 
his young men takes a prisoner, it is his duty to bring him immediately to the chief, 
to be tied, and the latter is responsible for his safe-keeping." — Narrative of Captivity 
and Adventures, p. 412. * 

Page 368. Wagemin, the thief of corn-fields. 
Paimosaid, the skulking roller. 

'If one of the young female huskers finds a red ear of corn, it is typical of a brave ; 
admirer, and is regarded as a fitting present to some young warrior. But if the ear 
be crooked, ami tapering to a point, no matter what colour, the whole circle is set in a 
roar, and wa-se-min is the word shouted aloud. It is the symbol of a thief in the 
corn-field. It is considered as the image of an old man stooping as he enters the lot. 
Had the chisel of Praxiteles been employed to produce this image, it could not more 
vividly bring to the minds of the merry group the idea of a pilferer of their favourite 
mondamin 

" The literal meaning of the term is, a mass, or crooked ear of grain; but the ear 
of corn so-called, is a conventional type of a little old man pilfering ears of corn in a 
corn-field. It is in this manner that a single word or term, in these curious languages, 
becomes the fruitful parent of many ideas. And we can thus perceive why it is that 
the word wagemin is alone competent to excite merriment in the husking circle. 

" This term is taken as the basis of the cereal chorus, or corn-song, as sung by the, 
Northern Algonquin tribes. It is coupled with the phrase Paimosaid, a permutative - 
form of the Indian substantive, made from the verb pimosa, to walk. Its literal 
meaning is, he who walks, or the walker ,• but the ideas conveyed by it are, he who 
walks by night to pilfer corn. It offers, therefore, a kind of parallelism in expression . 
to the preceding term." — Oneota, p. 254. 

Page 374. Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces. 

This Game of the Bowl is the principal game of hazard among the Northern tribes 
of Indians. Mr. Schoolcraft gives a particular account of it in Oneota, p. 85. " This 
game," he says, "is very fascinating to some portions of the Indians. Thev stake at 
it their ornaments, weapons, clothing, canoes, horses, everything, in fact, they possess; 
and have been known, it is said, to set up their wives and children, and even to forfeit 
their own liberty. Of such desperate stakes I have seen no examples, nor do I think 1 
the game itself in common use. It is rather confined to certain persons, who hold the 
relative rank of gamblers in Indian society — men who are not noted as hunters or 
warriors, or steady providers for their families. Among these are persons who bear the 
term of lenadnze-wug, that is, wanderers about the country, braggadocios, or fops. It 
can hardly be classed with the popular games of amusement, by which skill and 
dexterity are acquired. I have generally found the chiefs and graver men of the tribes, ' 
who encouraged the young men to play ball, and are sure to be present at the customary 
sports, to witness, and sanction, and applaud them, speak lightly and disparagingly of 
this game of hazard. Yet it cannot be denied that some of the chiefs, distinguished in 
war and the chase, at the West, can be referred to as lending their example to its 
fascinating power." 

See also his History, Condition, and Prospects of the Indian Tnles, part ii. p. 72. 



NOTES. 651 

I the Pictured Rocki of sa . 

on of the Pictured Rocks i: 
I : 

• 4 extract : — 

-ibed, in ger.i - of sandstone 

ling along tl. miles, and r 

U) from the water, wirhoui 
1 from hit) to nearl) two 1 
ight not, so fai u re I 
dual curi< utu , ..hi. lUf. h rach 1 n 

.1 lake, won] : .[. Xo 

k) . the rising wind — ail tl 
■ . 1 induce him 1 rnus oar until the dn •:. But 

i the Pictured Rocks tl h communu ■ 

(mdertul and almost unique character. the carious manner in which 

he dtfls 1 I and worn awa\ by the action of the lake, I 

nturies has dashed an ocean-likf nd, the equally 

kirious manntl in winch large |>oitn : toe ha\e been colour 

jrilliant hue--. 

"It is from the latter circum :ch these did 

e American traveUei is derived \ while 

■• The terra Pii tin erf J 

1 applied* we have been unable to it would seem 

raverters weie more impressed with the novel and striking distribution ot a 
fie surface than with the astonishing variety of torm into which the cliffs tl 

;..i\c bet u worn 

Ourvoyageurs had many legends to relate of the pranks of the Menm-iojou in 

; as, and, in answer to our ii 
ut end of the achievements of this Indian di 

Pi b 391. Towards il< run his hands were lifted. 

n this manner, and with such salutations, was Father Marquette received by the 
Illinois. Sec his Voyages ei Ddcovvertes, section v. 

e y)8. That of our vices ue can frame 
A ladder. 

The words of St. Augustine arc, " Dc vitiis nostris scahm nobis facimus, si vitia ipsa 
talcamus." — Sermon iii. De Aseensione* 

Page 399. The Phantom Ship. 
A derailed account of this " apparition of a Ship in the Air" is given by Cotton 
Mather in his Magnalia Chrish, hook i. ch. vi. It is contained in a letter from the 
Kcv. James Pierpont, Pastor of New Haven. To this account, Mather adds these 
(svords : — 

" Header, there being yet living so many credible gentlemen, that were eye-witnesses 
f this wonderful thing, I venture to publish it for a thing as undoubted as 'tis won- 
derful." 

Page 410. Oliver Basselin. 

Oliver Basselin, the " Pure joyeitx du Faudevillc," flourished in the fifteenth century, 



652 NOTES. 

and gave to his convivial songs the name of his native valleys, in which he sang them, 
Vaux-de-Vire. This name was afterwards corrupted into the modern Vaudeville. 

Page 412. Victor Galbraith. 

This poem is founded en fact. Victor Galbraith was a bugler in a company of 
volunteer cavalry ; and was shot in Mexico for some breach of discipline. It is a com- 
mon superstition among soldiers, that no balls will kill them unless their names are 
written on them. The old proverb says, " Every bullet has its billet." 

Page 414. / remember the sea-fight far away. 

This was the engagement between the Enterprise and Boxer, off the harbour of Port- 
land, in which both captains were slain. They were buried side by side, in the ceme- 
tery on Mountjoy. 

Page 420. Santa Filomena. 

'* At Pisa the Church of San Francisco contains a chapel dedicated lately to Santa 
Filomena; over the altar is a picture, by Sabatelli, representing the Saint as a beautiful, 
nymph-like figure, floating down from heaven, attended by two angels bearing the lily, 
palm, and javelin, and beneath, in the foreground, the sick and maimed, who are healed 
by her intercession." — Mrs. Jameson, Sacred and Legendary Art, ii. 298. 

Page 541. Coplas de Mannque. 

Don Jorge Manrique, the author of this poem, flourished in the last half of the 
fifteenth century. He followed the profession of arms, and died on the field of battle. 
Mariana, in his History of Spain, makes honourable mention of him, as being present 
at the siege of Ucles; and speaks of him as "a youth of estimable qualities, who in this 
war gave brilliant proofs of his valour. He died young; and was thus cut off from long 
exercising his great virtues, and exhibiting to the world the light of his genius, which 
was already known to fame." He was mortally wcunded in a skirmish near Canavete, 
m the year 1479. 

The name of Rodrigo Manrique, the father of the poet, Conde de Parades and 
Maestre de Santiago, is well known in Spanish history and song. He died in 1476; 
according to Mariana, in the town of Ucles ; but according to the poem of his son, in 
Ocana. It was his death that called forth the poem upon which rests the literary repu- 
tation of the younger Manrique. In the language of his historian, "Don Jorge Man- 
rique, in an elegant Ode, full of poetic beauties, rich embellishments of genius, and 
high moral reflections, mourned the death of his father as with a funeral hymn." This 
praise is not exaggerated. The poem is a model in its kind. Its conception is solemn 
and beautiful ; and, in accordance with it, the style moves on — calm, dignified, and 
majestic. 

This poem of Manrique is a great favourite in Spain. No less than four poetic 
•glosses, or running commentaries upon it, have been published, nc one «f which, how- 
ever, possesses great poetic merit. That of the Carthusian monk, Rodrigo de Valde- 
penas, is the best. It is known as the Glosa del Cartnjo. There is also a prose Com= 
mentary by Luis de Aranda. 

The following stanzas of the poem were found in the author's pocket after his death 
on the field of battle : — 

" World ! so few the years we live, 
Would that the life which thou dost give 

Were life indeed ! 
Alas ! thy sorrows fall so fast, 
Our happiest hour is when at last 
The soul is freed. 









6 53 

" Our days are covered 
And - 

■ ill; 

Left desolate of real jood, 
Within ti is cheeriest solitude 
No piomm bloom. 

" T'n _-ins in tears, 

aa» in bitter doubts aiiu . 

ppcar, 
'luat be who liiiLTi-j > 1>jh c 'l-: :. 
Knov. 

■ Thy ^'u.k!s . 'i.anv a gToan, 

. uloue, 
And \. 

roach of woe, 
Uut with u I.: ind blow 

It; lurm d> ; .. 

Page - 
Nils Jud was a celebrated Danish Admiral, -Admiral, who 

tved the popular title of Tordenskiold, or Thun<: - I., 

iildhood he wa bet rank before the age ot 

. lit, when he was killed m a duel. 

Page 578. The blind girl <j Ca*H»CuUU. 

Jasmin, the author ot this beautiful poem, is to the south of I' ranee what Bu: 

south ot Scotland — I me heart ot ti 1 happy 

uds who aie torn With their months mil ot birds (ta lonco plena faouzelott ■> . Ik 

s written his owi i:n, and the simpk narrative of his poverty, 

Struggles, ail( ' his triumphs is very touching, lie still lues at Agcn, on the Garonne; 
1 Ion- may lie live there to delight his name land with native songs! 
The following description Of his person and way of lit-- is taken from the graphic 
get ot •• Bearn and the Pyrem 1 Stuart CosteUo, whose charming pen has 

ne so much to illustrate the French provinces and their literature . — 

" At the entrance of the promenade du Gravicr is a row of small houses — som. 

hers shops, the indication of which is a painted cloth, placed across the way, with the 
.sner's name in bright gold letters, in the manner of the arcades in the streets, and 

eir announcements. One of the most glaring of these was, we observed, a bright blue 
ig, bordered with gold; on which, in large gold letters, appeared the name of ' Jasmin, 

itleur.' We entered, and were welcomed by a smiling, dark-eyed woman, who in- 
clined us that her husband was busy at that moment, dressing a customer's hair, but 

was desirous to receive us, and begged we would walk into his parlour at the back of 
ie shop. 

" She exhibited to us a laurel crown of gold, of delicate workmanship, sent from the 
ity ot Clemence Isaure, Toulouse, to the poet; who will probably one day take his 
lace in the capiloul. Next came a golden cup, with an inscription in his honour, 
;ven by the citizens of Auch ; a gold watch, chain, and seals, sent by the king, Louis 
rhflippe; an emerald ring, worn and presented by the lamented Duke of Orleans; a 
icarl pin, by the graceful Duchess, who, on the poet's visit to Paris, accompanied by his 
on, received him in the words he puts into the mouth of Henri Quatrc. — 

" Urabes Gaseous ! 
A moun amou per bous aou dibes creyre : 
lknes ! benes ! cy plaz£ de bous beyre: 

Aprouchabous !" 



6 54 NOTES. 

A fine service of linen, the offering of the town of Pau, after its citizens had given fet 
in his honour, and loaded him with caresses and praises; and nicknacks andjewe 
of all descriptions, offered to him by lady-ambassadresses and gieat lords; Englis 
' misses' and ' miladis ;' and French and foreigners of all nations who did or did no 
understand Gascon. 

" All this, though startling, was not convincing; Jasmin, the barber, might only 1 
a fashion, a. furore, a caprice, after all; and it was evident that he knew how to get up 
a scene well. When we had become nearly tired of looking over these tributes to his 
genius, the door opened, and the poet himself appeared. His manner was free and un- 
embarrassed, well-bred, and lively; he received our compliments naturally, and like one 
accustomed to homage ; said he was ill, and unfortunately too hoarse to read anything : 
to us, or should have been delighted to do so. He spoke with a broad Gascon accent,- 
and very rapidly and eloquently; ran over the story of his successes; told us that his- 1 
grandfather had been a beggar, and all his family very poor ; that he was now as rich as^ 
he wished to be ; his son placed in a good position at Nantes; then showed us his sonV' 
picture, and spoke of his disposition, to which his brisk little wife added that, though- 
no fool, he had not his father's genius, to which truth Jasmin assented as a matter of : 
course. I told him of having seen mention made of him in an English review; which 1 
he said had been sent him by Lord Durham, who had paid him a visit ; and I then] 
spoke of ' Mi cal mouri' as known to me. This Was enough to make him forget his-' 
hoarseness and every other evil : it would never do for me to imagine that that little? 1 
song was his best composition ; it was merely his first ; he must try to read to me a little^ 
of ' L'Abuglo,' a few verses of 'Franconnette/ ' You will be charmed,' said he; ' but ' 
if I were well, and you would give me the pleasure of your company for some time, 1 
if you were not merely running through Agen, I would kill you with weeping — I;j 
would make you die with distress for my poor Margarido — my pretty Franconnette !' 

" He caught up two copies of his book from a pile lying on the table, and making ; 
us sit close, to him, he pointed out the French translation on one side, which he told - 
us to follow, while he read in Gascon. He began in a rich soft voice, and as he ad- 
vanced, the surprise of Hamlet on hearing the player-king recite the disasters of Hecuba 
was but a type of ours, to find ourselves carried away by the spell of his enthusiasm. : 
His eyes swam in tears; he became pale and red; he trembled; he recovered him- \ 
self; his face was now joyous, now exulting, gay, jocose; in fact, he was twenty actors 
in one; he rang the. changes from Rachel to Bouffe; and he finished by delighting us, : 
besides beguiling us of our tears, and overwhelming us with astonishment. 

"He would have been a treasure on the stage; for he is still, though his first youth 
is past, remarkably good-looking and striking; with black, sparkling eyes of intense - 
expression; a fine ruddy complexion; a countenance of wondrous mobility; a good 
figure, and action full of fire and grace; he has handsome hands, which he uses with 
infinite effect; and, on the whole, he is the best actor of the kind I ever saw. I could : 
now quite understand what a troubadour or jongleur might be, and I look upon Jasmin- 
as a revived specimen of that extinct race. Such as he is might have been Gaucelm : < 
Faidit, of Avignon, the friend of Cceur de Lion, who lamented the death of the hero in 
such moving strains; .such might have been Bernard de Ventadour, who sang the fl 
praises of Queen Elinore's beauty; such Geoffrey Rudel, of Blaye, on his own Garonne;" 1 
such the wild Vidal ; certain it is that none of these troubadours of old could more - 
move, by their singing or reciting, than Jasmin, in whom all their long-smothered- 1 
fire and traditional magic seems re-illumined. 

" We found we had stayed hours instead of minutes with the poet ; but he would 
not hear of any apology — only regretted that his voice was so out of tune, in consequence 
of a violent cold, under which he was really labouring, and hoped to see us again. He 
told us our countrywomen of Pau had laden him with kindness and attention, and ^ 
spoke with such enthusiasm of the beauty of certain 'misses,' that I feared his little , 
wife would feel somewhat piqued ; but, on the contrary, she stood by, smiling an 
happy, and enjoying the stories of his triumphs. I remarked that he had restored IT 



NOTES. 6 55 

:ry of the troubadours; asked him if he knew their songs; and said he was worthy 
alii at their head. ' 1 ur,' said he, with energy; ' but 1 am far 

jnd them all; they were but beginners; they ne\er composed a poem like my 
T'ranconnette! there are no poets in Prance now — there cannot be; the I 
lloes not admit oi it; where is the fire, the spirit, the expression, the tenderness, trie 
' <ree oi the Gascon? French is but the h the first rioor of Gascon — how 

; . an you get up to a height except by a ladder r* 

*' I returned by Agen, after an absence in the Pyrenees of some months, and 
ny acquaintance with Jasmin and his dark-eyed wife 1 di hould 

C rCC gnisedj but the moment I entered the little - 
, Ah !' cried Jasmin, 'enfin la voi'.t a I 

eCtion, but soon found it was less on n:. . than 

because a circumstance had occurred to the poet which ! uld perhaps 

Ixplain. II. pert, in which he ) nean 

article, 

Ei ! , been fla- 

ttie honour done him b) 1. 

•era much spre.i 1 by this means ; an I he 
eso l ved to learn English, in order that he might ju I 

vhich, he had bo : Ried him 

I knew who was the reviewer and translator : 
r .i iving pleasure in an Engii h -uj erior sim| 

rn French, for which I anfitted for lyri 

' !e inquired oi me respi m hi had been like: d dm to 

11 him something of W using, at 

^having discovered :t secret which had puzzled them so long. 

' 1 le had a th I id Only the d 

Received a letter from the Duchess oi Orleans, informing him that she had ordered a 
medal of her late husband to he struck, t: e t.i-t ( t which would le sent to him : she 
^lso announced to him the agreeable news ot the king having granted him a pension of 
thousand francs. He smiled and wept by tun I all this; and declared. 

, Much as he was elate I at tl of a sum which made him a rich man for life, 

the kindness of the Duchess gratified him even a 

He then made us sit down while i ; both charming, and 

.hill of grace and nnivite ; and one very af fe cting , being an address to the king, alluding 
to the death of his son. As he read, his win quite 

- omprehrad his Umg mark to that effect : to which he answered, 

Impatiently,'] they arc in tears.' This was unanswerable; 

aid we were allowed to hear the poem to the end; and I certainly never listened to 
inything more feelingly and energetically delil 

'•We had much conversation, for he was anxious to detain us, and, in the course of 
t, he told me that he had been by some accused of vanity. ' O,' he rejoined, 'what 
vould you have? lam a child of nature, and cannot conceal my feelings; the only 
llifference between me and a man ot refinement is, that he knows how to conceal his 
.lanitv and exultation at success, which I let everybody sec.' " — Beam and the Pyre- 
369, ei seq. 

Page 607. A Christmas Carol. 

The following description of Christmas in Burgundy is from M. Fertiault's Coup 
u*cril sur les Noils en Bour^oi:nc, prefixed to the Paris edition of Les Noels Bour- 
pwnsdela Monnoy at), 1842: — 

Every year, at tin approach of Advent, people refresh their memories, clear their 
:hroats, and begin preluding, in the long evenings by the fireside, those carols whose 



6 S 6 NOTES. 

invariable and eternal theme is the coming of the Messiah. They take from old 
doses, pamphlets, little collections begrimed with dust and smoke, to which the 
press and sometimes the pen, has consigned these songs; and as soon as the first 
Sunday of Advent sounds, they gossip, they gad; .bout, they sit ^^^^^1 
side sometimes at one house, sometimes at another, taking turns ,n paying tor the 
chStnuTand white wine, but singing with one common voice the grotesque praises 
of the Little Jesus. There are very few villages even, which, during all the even- 
?Lof Advent, do not hear some of these curious canticles shouted in their streets to 
the nasal drone of bagpipes. In this case the minstrel comes as a reinforcement to the 
line™ at the fireside fhe brings andadds his dose of joy (spontaneous or mercenary it 
mafters little which)! to the Joy which breathes around ^ ^hswnc ^ and when 
the voices vibrate and resound, one voice more is always welcome. There, it is not the 
purity of the notes which makes the concert, bnt the **£%-££ Calennh 
auantitas; then (to finish at once with the minstrel), when the saviour has at length 
been born in the manger, and the beautiful Christmas-eve is passed, the rustic piper 
mkes hi" round among° the houses, where every one comments and thanksj taoj 
and, moreover, gives him in small coin the price of the shrill notes with which he has 
enlivened the evening entertainments. 

« More or less, until Christmas-eve, all goes on in this way among our devout 
singers, with the difference of some gallons of wine or some hundreds of chestnuts. 
But this famous eve once come, the scale is pitched upon a higher key; the closing even- 
ins must be a memorable one. The toilet is begun at nightfall ; then comes the hour ot 
supper, admonishing divers appetites; and groups, as numerous as posssible, are formed, 
to take together this comfortable evening repast. The supper finished, a circle gathers 
around the hearth, which is arranged and set in order this evening after a particular 
fashion, and which at a later hour of the night is to become the object of special interest 
to the children. On the burning brands an enormous log has been placed, this log 
assuredly does not change its nature, but it changes its name during this evening; it is 
called the Suche (the Yule-log). ' Look you/ say they to the children < if you are good 
this evening, Noel' (for with children one must always personify), ' will ram down sugar- 
plums in the night/ And the children sit demurely, keeping as quiet as their turbu- 
lent little natures will permit. The groups of older persons, not always as orderly as 
the children, seize this good opportunity to surrender themselves with merry heart. 
and boisterous voices to the chanted worship of the miraculous Noel. For this hna, 
solemnity they have kept the most powerful, the most enthusiastic, the most electrifying 
carols Noel ! Noel ! Noel ! This magic word resounds on all sides ; it seasons every 
sauce \ it is served up with every course. Of the thousands of canticles which are 
heard on this famous eve, ninety-nine in a hundred begin and end with this worn, 
which is, one may say, theij Aloha and Omega, their crown and footstool. 



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